


To the World

by Etaleah



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Affection, Angst, Animals, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Beaches, Best Friends, Bickering, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Boats and Ships, Body Dysphoria, Bonding, Books, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Cabins, Camping, Carnival, Churches & Cathedrals, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Cruise Ships, Crying, Dancing, Day At The Beach, Domestic Bliss, Don't copy to another site, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Everyone Is Gay, Falling In Love, Fights, First Time, Food, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gay Bar, Guilt, Healing, Hiking, Hotels, Huddling For Warmth, Hugs, Humor, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Jealousy, Kindness, Libraries, Love, M/M, Massage, Masturbation, Memories, Miracles, Mountains, Moving In Together, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Nervousness, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Picnics, Pining, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protectiveness, Reading, Reading Aloud, Restaurants, Road Trips, Romance, Sex, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Snow, Snowball Fight, So Married, Spa Treatments, Spain, Supportive Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Touch-Starved Crowley (Good Omens), Touching, Travel, True Love, Vacation, Virgin Crowley (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), picked up and carried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 77,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etaleah/pseuds/Etaleah
Summary: "We worked so hard to try and save the world. I’d say it’s only fair that we be allowed to get out there and see it."With Armageddon averted, it's time for a holiday. Through cities, forests, mountains, and more, Aziraphale and Crowley go wherever the Bentley will take them, falling more and more in love with the world and each other along the way. As their days on the road slowly turn into weeks, six thousand years of fears and feelings are about to be revealed.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 88
Kudos: 236





	1. See the World

Crowley was due to meet Aziraphale at the Cuppa Tea Café in ten minutes, and for the first time he could remember, he dreaded going.

He lay on his well-worn bed in the darkness of his flat with his arms behind his head, scowling at the star-covered ceiling. His watch told him he should have been out the door twenty minutes ago. Aziraphale would be wondering what happened to him, and because the old bastard wouldn't just get a damn mobile already, Crowley had no way of letting him know he'd be late. He also had no way of explaining _why_ he was late.

_When the heaven did meeting in restaurants and cafés become so dull?_ They had done so at least a few times a week since 1941. Aziraphale's grin and the tiny twinkle in his eye when their food arrived never ceased to make Crowley smile. He had never cared that much about the food himself; a good bottle of wine and the angel's company were all he needed. Cool music never hurt either.

Yet ever since Armageddon (or rather, _not_ Armageddon), something was different.

Crowley sighed. "These things used to go so fast, and now they just drag," he mumbled. He'd spent their last meetup checking his watch more times than he cared to count, yet he'd still felt sad when he and Aziraphale said their goodbyes. Didn't make any damn sense.

It wasn't just restaurants either. Concerts, plays, films, all of them dragged just as much. For the life of him, Crowley could not fathom what had changed. He just knew something had. And it was killing his vibe.

He groaned. "Best get it over with." With more effort than should have been necessary, he pushed himself off his bed, snatched his sunglasses and keys from the table, and stalked out of the flat.

* * *

"There you are!" Aziraphale exclaimed, waving from their usual table. "I thought that was you when I heard the tires screeching outside."

"Not my fault humans don't know how to drive their own cars," Crowley snapped, dropping into a chair and crossing his arms. Aziraphale was sitting ever so primly with his napkin in his lap, a glass of water by his hand but nothing more. He was good about waiting for Crowley to arrive before ordering, but sometimes Crowley wished he wouldn't be. Just made him feel worse about being late.

"Lot of traffic then?" Aziraphale asked.

_No, I was just late because I'm an arsehole, all right?_ No, he wouldn't say that. Whatever the reason for this weird funk, it wasn't Aziraphale's fault. "Traffic. Yeah."

Aziraphale blinked. "Everything all right?"

"Fine." He stared at the clock over Aziraphale's head, wondering if it was worth trying to miracle it faster. If he could stop time, maybe he could speed it up too. He'd never tried that before.

"Afternoon, gentlemen," a cheerful server greeted them, passing them menus. "What can I get for—"

"Black coffee, two sugars," Crowley said, snapping his fingers.

Aziraphale glared in disapproval, mouthing _Crowley!_ The server stepped back in surprise but managed to say in the same jovial tone, "Okay, one black coffee, two sugars. Anything else?"

"Nope."

"Very good, sir. And for you?"

"Oh, it's all so delightful I hardly know what to choose," Aziraphale said. "The pasta plate is always scrumptious, but then I've also been keen to try the soup and sandwich combo. What would you recommend?"

"Well, you can't go wrong, sir, but might I suggest one of our specials tonight…" Crowley rolled his eyes and sighed as the server went through a _loooong_ description of their many specials, leaving no lettuce leaf unspoken. When they finally finished, Aziraphale remarked that they all sounded lovely and now the choice was even _harder_.

"What do you think, Crowley?"

"Just _pick something,"_ Crowley growled. "Heaven knows we'll be back here soon enough." He felt a prick of guilt at the hurt in Aziraphale's eyes. The smile and twinkle were gone.

"The pasta plate, please," he said, and the server hurried off. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong?" Crowley wasn't sure if he was asking Aziraphale or himself that question, or maybe the Almighty. He had been pondering it for some time.

"You seem very unhappy."

"Why would I be unhappy? The Earth has been saved, Heaven and Hell are leaving us alone, and we're about to have dinner together." Yet his leg was bouncing under the table, his fingers were tapping, and he longed to leave. He couldn't even look Aziraphale in the eye. For some reason the old-fashioned jukebox on the wall was more fascinating.

_Music, maybe that'll help._ He got up and put a few coins in the machine. Joan Jett and the Blackhearts blared through the speakers around the café. That and Queen were about the only rock Aziraphale could tolerate.

Crowley sat down again and moved his head to the beat. They sat in silence for a few minutes. The server came by with Crowley's coffee and refilled Aziraphale's water. The angel took a sip and asked, "Is something going on?"

"Hmm?"

"You know. Are you…having any issues? Problems? With Hell, maybe?"

Crowley threw his head back. "For Heaven's sake, Angel, why do you keep asking me if something's wrong? _Nothing_ is wrong, and don't you think if I were having problems with Head Office, I would tell you?"

"Yes, all right. It's just, you seem very antsy today. Short-tempered too."

"Antsy?"

"Yes. Ants in your pants, as they say. You seem like you didn't want to come here and can't wait to leave."

Crowley shrugged. "Not really the most exciting place, is it?" Actually, as far as cafés went, Cuppa Tea was one of the better ones. Besides the jukebox, there were nice paintings and a casual enough atmosphere that he could wear his jeans and not feel out of place like he sometimes did at the Ritz.

"You agreed to it when I suggested it. We've been here plenty of times before."

Crowley shrugged. Aziraphale puffed out his cheeks, which was how you knew he was getting frustrated with you. Crowley found it difficult to take seriously, though; he thought it an adorable look.

"Well, if you don't like it here, we can go somewhere else."

"Oh, we _can't_ do that! Not after you've ordered your precious pasta plate or whatever it is you're going to have. Heaven forbid we go anywhere until you've had your fill."

Aziraphale went still and silent, altering between anger and hurt, staring at Crowley with increasingly shiny eyes. For a horrifying moment, he thought the angel was going to cry. Or shout, maybe.

"Good lord," he said quietly. "Whatever did I do to deserve you saying something like that to me? I'm not one of your plants, Crowley."

_Bastard, look what you've done._ Crowley thought to himself. Grasping for the right words to say and coming up with nothing, he reached for Aziraphale's arm and covered it with his hand as gently as he could, hoping that would convey something. He took a deep, shuddering breath. When he could speak, he said, "I'm sorry."

He forced himself to look at those eyes. "I apologize. You're right. That was a shit thing to say and you didn't deserve it."

Aziraphale nodded. "Apology accepted, though if I may say so, I think our server deserves one too." He covered Crowley's hand with his own. "I just wish you'd tell me what's going on so I could help." He patted Crowley's hand.

Crowley couldn't deny it anymore. Somehow, this was all going to come out. At least he could stall for time. "Not here, all right? I'll tell you at the bookshop."

"Fair enough." They sat in silence until the server brought Aziraphale's pasta plate, at which point Crowley apologized and Aziraphale asked if he could take the meal to go.

* * *

Though the amount of stuff crammed into it made him claustrophobic at times, Crowley loved Aziraphale's bookshop. With its cozy lights, comfy furniture, and cocoa smell, it could be even more of a haven to Crowley than his own flat. He collapsed onto his favorite couch, enjoying the relief of hearing Aziraphale close the door and lock it with the "Closed" sign facing outward and the blinds drawn.

At last, they were alone.

"Out with it now," Aziraphale said, dropping into his armchair. "What's the matter?"

Crowley shrugged. "Well, that's just it. I don't really know."

"Oh come now, you must have some idea what's got you in a tizzy."

"Tizzy?" Someone really needed to invent an Aziraphale-to-English dictionary.

"Yes." Aziraphale reached for the blanket he kept near his armchair and tucked it around him. "Take your time. I'm here all night."

_How sweet of you,_ Crowley thought. He tried to think how to put this funk, this constant dark cloud of a mood, into words.

"Everything's the same!" he groaned. Suddenly it all came spilling out. "The same restaurants, the same theaters and concert halls. All we do is go, 'Where do you want to meet?' 'I dunno, where do _you_ wanna meet?' And then we go there and we do the thing and then we just—leave! Go back to our respective places and then the next day or next week, it happens all over again."

"It gives us an excuse to be together."

"That's just it!" Crowley sat up and raised his hands. "An _excuse._ Why do we need an excuse? Why can't we just _be together_ and not have to justify it with a meal or a show?"

"Well, we don't. I didn't mean it like that."

"I know, I know, just…I wish we could just…" Damn, why was this so hard? He sighed and flopped back on the couch, hands over his shaking head. "I don't know, Angel. I don't know what I'm asking. I've spent the past five months trying to figure out what it is I want and I still don't know."

Aziraphale gave that some thought. "When's the last time you had fun? What's the last thing we did that you remember truly enjoying?"

Crowley closed his eyes and thought back. This mood of his had started not long after the Armageddon debacle, so the last time he had fun would have been around then. _We switched back in the garden, then we had lunch at the Ritz. That was nice at the time, but I haven't really enjoyed it since. And after the Ritz, what did we do? Oh, yeah._

"You remember after the whole thing happened, when you wanted to see your bookshop to make sure it really was still there?"

Aziraphale smiled. "Yes. Was one of the happiest days I can remember. And after we got here, we had a little party to celebrate."

_"That."_ Crowley pointed to Aziraphale. "That was the last time I had fun."

"Really?" Aziraphale was puzzled. "But all we did was drink wine and chat. I think we may have played a board game at some point, but mostly it was us hunging around."

_"Hanging_ around, Aziraphale."

"Well, whatever it was. And then I read my book and you fell asleep on the couch. You're saying _that_ was what you loved the most?"

Crowley shrugged, a little shyly. "Yeah. It was something different. More relaxed." He couldn't tell Aziraphale that he had loved having his angel all to himself. Whenever they went out, he had to share him with servers and the people around them or whatever show they happened to be watching. They had to be careful about what they talked about or how many miracles they did, lest people get suspicious. Here in the bookshop, they could be themselves.

"Something different." Aziraphale sat back and considered this. "I suppose we have been getting a little repetitive lately. A change of pace might be nice."

"Mm." Crowley already felt better. His body was lighter, and he found himself smiling. Maybe now that he'd given voice to this funk, it would go away. He wanted to enjoy his angel's company again.

"That's the trouble with living in London for so long, I suppose. We've seen and done everything there is to see and do." He put his finger to his chin. "Maybe we could…I don't know…perhaps we might…"

"Spit it out already."

"What would you say to a little road trip?"

"A what?"

"A road trip." Aziraphale grinned, wiggling in that wonderful way of his. "If you're bored of London, it seems to me that the thing to do is to get out of London. Let's go somewhere else for a while."

Crowley brightened. "Like where?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" He shrugged. "How about we just hop in your car and see where we end up?"

Crowley laughed. "Hop in my car and see where we end up? Who are you and what have you done with Aziraphale?"

"I know, it's unusual. Highly spontaneous and completely lacking in any sort of plan whatsoever with many ways in which it could go wrong. But you know." He sat up and raised his eyebrows in a daring expression. "Ever since we told off Heaven and Hell, I'm feeling a tad more adventurous these days. And besides, we worked so hard to try and save the world. I'd say it's only fair that we be allowed to get out there and see it. We've never done that before. Every time we traveled somewhere, it was always for work."

_Holy shit. He actually means it._ Crowley's heart sped up in excitement for the first time in months. "You'd really be okay with us just going off and not knowing where?"

"Completely. And for however long we feel like." He giggled. "Days, weeks, months. Maybe even years. Who's to say?"

Crowley shook his head. "Please, we both know you couldn't be away from your bookshop for years."

"Well, perhaps not _that_ long," Aziraphale admitted. "But I wouldn't mind an extended holiday."

"A holiday," Crowley repeated. Just the word on his tongue made him happy. He pictured the two of them alone in the Bentley, driving through roads they'd never been on. No schedules, no London traffic, no meetings, no parting ways after a meal. He couldn't help a wiggle of his own. "I like it. When do we leave?"

"A week from tomorrow," Aziraphale said. "That should give us enough time to pack, shop for anything we need, and lock up our homes. I imagine we'll need to take quite a lot with us since we don't know how long we'll be gone."

"Right, yeah." Crowley couldn't keep the grin off his face. He couldn't believe this was happening. Already the weight of everything he'd been feeling was gone. _Our holiday._ He wanted to go right then. All of a sudden he couldn't wait to leave London behind and take his angel around the world. He pictured rolling hills, scenic highways, sprawling cities, and snow-capped mountains. The two of them standing together and talking about everything under the sun. God, he wanted to leave right this minute.

Aziraphale was right though, a week to prepare would do them good.

"You seem excited now," Aziraphale said, standing up. "I've missed that look on your face."

"I finally have something to be excited about," Crowley said, slapping his hand into Aziraphale's and shaking it heartily. "We're going on holiday. A holiday to the world."

* * *

"Holy shit," Crowley thought, pacing his room later that night. "We're going on holiday. A holiday _together_."

He'd been beyond excited when he'd left the bookshop, but the closer he got to his flat, the more the reality began to sink in. Crowley and Aziraphale would be together _every minute_. For _weeks_.

"What could possibly go wrong?" he muttered to himself. "Us in the car together, in hotels, walking around…" He ran a hand through his hair, not even sure how he was feeling. On the one hand it was everything he'd ever dreamed of. No work, no bosses breathing down their backs, no responsibilities, just the two of them having fun. On the other hand, being together every moment meant it'd be all too easy for Crowley to screw up. What if he blurted something out? What if he fucked up their friendship for good? He'd have nobody. True, they _could_ technically be together now, but there was no way it would happen. Aziraphale hadn't exactly made any moves in the past few months.

"Then again, he never does," Crowley growled. _Be nice if he did the asking and initiating for once._ He was never completely sure if the angel indulged him out of sincerity or politeness, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Because this time, if Aziraphale rejected him, it wouldn't be because of celestial politics. It would be because he didn't love him. Crowley's heart hurt. He groaned and flopped on the bed. When he opened his eyes, he could almost see Aziraphale lying there, just like he had that night they'd gone home together on the bus.

He couldn't help a little laugh when he thought of that night.

Aziraphale didn't normally sleep, but the events of that week had been so exhausting that he welcomed it that night. He insisted he didn't have dreams, but Crowley was certain he did and just didn't remember them. He knew this because several times that night, he had awoken or been kept awake to sounds of "Mm-mm, scrumptious," as Aziraphale chewed on his pillow. Well, sometimes he chewed. Other times, he sucked on the end of it like a baby with a bottle, and Crowley knew he was dreaming of soup bowls and wine. Saliva leaked out of his mouth all over the pillow and sheets as he went to work on that pillow, sound asleep the whole time.

It was fucking _adorable._ Stupid and weird, yes, but adorable and so incredibly _Aziraphale_. Despite that, Crowley didn't dare let him find out about it. As soon as he settled into silence, Crowley miracled the pillow and sheets dry. When Aziraphale woke up wondering why on earth he was so _thirsty_ that morning, Crowley shrugged and pretended to be as clueless as he was.

He had been tempted to film it with his phone, but resisted. That might actually hurt Aziraphale to think Crowley was laughing at him, and he _was_ , but not like that. He just smiled and watched, thinking how crazy it was how much he fucking loved it. Here was a celestial being, a principality, an angel of the Lord created by the highest of higher powers to influence the forces of humanity for the greater good…and here he was chewing on a pillow without even knowing he was doing it. Fucking _priceless_.

It felt like his own little secret, one he didn't feel bad about having, which was a nice change. Watching Aziraphale sleep never got old, only better.

On nights when he was willing to be deeply, intensely honest with himself, Crowley knew he was falling more in love with Aziraphale every day. For reasons he himself couldn't even hope to explain, he'd felt his heart swell and his smile widen a little more every time that pillow was in Aziraphale's mouth.

And that wasn't the only thing he'd noticed.

Normally Aziraphale's Victorian outfit covered every inch of him, so all Crowley ever saw were his face and hands. Not that it mattered, he could think about that face and that hair and those hands for hours. But bedtime was the one and only time of the day when Aziraphale dressed a little lighter. His arms were exposed in a soft T-shirt, and he was barefoot too. Crowley couldn't see his feet since they'd been under the covers, but he had seen a surprising amount of muscle on those arms. Thanks to his ability to see in the dark, he could make out the light, blonde hairs on his arms too. He wondered what they would feel like under his fingers. If they were as soft as those angelic hands.

Aziraphale had rolled onto his back, and Crowley had to suck in a breath as his shirt hiked up from the movement. His own body was nothing but angles and bones with hardly anything to love, but Aziraphale had the body of a teddy bear. A very soft teddy bear from the looks of him. One with a curve to his belly and soft flab all over. His was the kind of body you could squeeze and bury your face in. Not that Crowley would ever do that. He was a _demon_ , after all, he didn't bury his face in anything. Least of all a soft, squishy, teddy bear tummy that was rising and falling with perfect rhythm and _G_ _od_ what was the matter with him? He was fucking losing it.

Crowley turned away to face the wall. He didn't know how it happened, but somehow these…these… _things_ , these "feelings" or whatever they were that he'd kept under control since Eden had cranked up to eleven. Always he had wanted Aziraphale, but now it was stronger than that. Now, for some reason, he felt like he "needed" him. Needed to touch him, be close to him. Even more embarrassing, he wanted to breathe in that scent of books and cologne he was so used to. Which would never happen, of course, because for him to do that, he would have to lick Aziraphale's skin. The only way for a snake to really smell something was with its tongue (Antichrist and Hell Hound notwithstanding). And even if somehow Aziraphale did "like" him, he was the fussiest person you ever met when it came to being clean. He could whine and bitch for hours over stepping in a puddle.

_It'll never happen. None of it will ever happen. Just forget about it already._ Crowley had said that to himself over and over that night and sighed. He'd wished he could. It was easier when he was alone, but forgetting about your feelings for someone was hard when that someone was right there and looking more damn beautiful than ever with the moon shining directly on him through the window. There'd been so much more of him than Crowley was used to. That fluffy hair, mussed from rolling in his sleep. Those chubby cheeks with the imprint of the pillow in one of them. Those hips and legs, their shape finally visible now that they weren't buried under God knew how many layers. And that big round belly, the part of Aziraphale that showed who he was, how much he loved food. His whole body emanated love.

He was the most beautiful thing Crowley had ever seen.

_Wish I had a body like that._ He looked sadly down at his. No muscles, no softness, no fluffy hair or curvy shape. Just skinny arms, lanky legs, hardly any stomach at all, and a part between the legs that he didn't like to think about because it hadn't been the one he wanted. When you were low-ranking in Hell, you got what they gave you. Crowley knew he'd been lucky to even get a flat chest. He snapped his legs closed and looked away.

One thing he and Aziraphale almost certainly had in common was that they could both probably count on one hand the number of times someone had seen them naked, or had even seen themselves naked. Aziraphale was definitely a virgin. That gave Crowley some comfort. If they did get together (ha!), he wouldn't be the only one with no experience and no idea what he was doing. Better yet, he could pretend like he'd been in bed with a million people and Aziraphale would be none the wiser. That would work perfectly.

With that plan in mind, Crowley forced himself to stop thinking so much and go to sleep.


	2. On the Road

Crowley pushed ninety-five all the way from his flat, slowing down only when A.Z. Fell's Rare and Antiquarian Books was in view. He parked the Bentley in its usual spot by the curb and stepped out just in time to see Aziraphale emerging from the shop.

"Oh no. No, no, no, no, you are _not_ wearing that."

"What do you mean? This is what all the travelers wear, I saw it in a film once." Aziraphale brushed his yellow and red Hawaiian shirt, which contrasted hideously with his brown cargo shorts, his pale legs, yellow sandals, white visor, and…dear God, a _fanny pack_.

"It is definitely not what all the travelers wear, and it looks ridiculous. I'm not about to be seen with you looking like that."

Aziraphale pursed his lips and took off the visor. "I'll lose the hat, I suppose, but the rest of it stays."

Crowley pointed to the fanny pack. _"Please_ get rid of that abomination around your waist."

"But it's so handy!" Aziraphale opened the zipper. "Look, it holds all of my money and my glasses." He turned to go back inside and beckoned Crowley with his hand. "Now come on and help me with my suitcases. This is my holiday too, and I'm going to dress in style."

Crowley groaned. "Angel, you don't know the meaning of the word 'style.'" He made a mental note to miracle the fanny pack on fire when Aziraphale wasn't looking.

The bookshop was empty with the lights off and the most valuable books moved to the back. Aziraphale directed Crowley to the corner, where a staggering amount of luggage was waiting. Crowley wobbled to the boot of the Bentley, an enormous suitcase weighing down each hand.

"How…in the world…" he asked between grunts. "Is it possible that I managed to fit everything I need into one suitcase and you somehow need five?"

Aziraphale frowned. "I wouldn't expect you to understand about books," he said stiffly.

"Books!" Crowley dropped the suitcases, making Aziraphale wince. "Are you kidding me? I thought these were clothes and shoes. You expect me to believe you need _five_ suitcases just for books?"

"Yes! We don't know how long we'll be gone and I read very fast. Besides, the books are quite large and not many of them will fit in just one case."

Crowley sighed. "Bloody hell, we need to get you an e-reader," he muttered. Still, he humored his angel by helping him load the suitcases—many of which were stuffed so full they didn't close—into the boot and backseat of the Bentley. A beach bag, a cooler, a picnic basket, and a bag of dry-cleaned clothes that Aziraphale insisted could not be wrinkled went in too. In ninety years, Crowley didn't think he'd ever seen his car so full.

"You poor thing," he said mournfully, patting its roof. "Quite the trooper, you are."

"Our noble chariot," Aziraphale joked, taking his keys from his pocket. After one last inspection to see that the lights were turned off, any candles were extinguished (not that he used them much after the fire), and no customers had snuck in unnoticed, he locked up the bookshop and followed Crowley to the car.

Neither of them could resist a silly grin as they slid into their seats and shut the doors. This had all the fun and joy of playing hooky without the guilt. Aziraphale leaned back and rolled down his window, letting the breeze play with his hair. He started to put his feet up until Crowley growled at him.

"Oi, no footprints on my dashboard," he said with a glare, starting up the engine.

"Oh, all right," Aziraphale said good-naturedly. He slipped his shoes off and rode barefoot instead. Interesting, he had never done that before. His feet looked damn good too. Crowley tried to look like he didn't notice as he casually slipped his arm out the window. Aziraphale followed suit.

"You look comfy," Crowley said with a smile.

"I am," Aziraphale said, resting his head back and closing his eyes. "I've been looking forward to this since we first talked about it."

"Don't think I've ever seen you look so relaxed." Jeez, this was going to be a dangerous trip if Crowley was already falling even further in love.

Aziraphale opened one eye. "My best friend and I are going on holiday. The only way I could not feel relaxed is if you decided to blast that bebop—"

_"Rock,_ Aziraphale, for Heaven's sake—"

"Well, whatever it is!" He gestured to the steering wheel. "Just drive, you wily old thing."

_"You wily old thing,"_ Crowley mocked, and they laughed. He shifted the gears, and they were off, speeding through Central London. Mozart began to play through the speakers.

"How lovely!" Aziraphale exclaimed. "I thought your Mozart CD had turned into Queen."

"It did. This is a new one."

Aziraphale smiled warmly. "You went out and bought a new Mozart CD just for me?" When Crowley didn't nod or say anything, his smile vanished. "Crowley…where did this come from?"

"Er—the library."

"Crowley, you can't steal from a _library!"_

"I didn't steal it! I borrowed it. That's what you're supposed to do at libraries. I just happened to be doing it without a library card." He turned to Aziraphale and grinned. "Shall I turn this car around and bring it back?"

Aziraphale sighed. "No, that's quite all right. I'll just trust that you'll do the honorable thing and return it when we come home."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Crowley said with a smirk. Aziraphale swatted at him playfully. They could play each other like fiddles.

They settled back into comfortable silence. Crowley weaved in and out of traffic, driving even faster than usual in his hurry to get out of London. For once, Aziraphale didn't reprimand him. He was too busy enjoying the wind and the music with his eyes closed. Since they didn't have a destination, Crowley picked whichever routes were easiest or the most scenic. As they approached the outskirts of the city, traffic thinned, and he smiled.

"Here we go," he said, easing the Bentley onto a country drive. "Nice, open road."

The sky was brilliantly blue for once instead of the overcast gray that was so typical for England. Tree branches waved in the wind. Ornate homes and estates dotted the landscape. They passed a farm and Aziraphale gave the cows and horses a cheery wave. Crowley smirked.

"What? They deserve some attention too—oh dear, the music's already over." Mozart's melodies had faded into the end of the CD. "What else have you got?"

"Nothing you'd want."

"Surely you must have something. Bach or Beethoven?"

"No."

"Schubert?"

"No."

"Tchaikovsky?"

"No. Well, not with me anyway."

Aziraphale pursed his lips. "What about something from West End? Like the songs from a musical?"

"Well, I can always put on _The Sound of_ —"

"NO." Aziraphale shook his head and Crowley laughed. "No, no, no, _anything_ but that."

"Right. You know, now that you mention it, I think I might have something here. Picked it up last week and forgot about it." He started to reach for the glove compartment, unintentionally swerving the Bentley into the other lane and narrowly missing a collision with a lorry, which honked at them rudely. Aziraphale shrieked and slapped his hand away.

"Watch the road! I'll look for it." He opened the glove compartment and flipped through the many CDs shoved inside. "Oh, here we go. _Jekyll & Hyde_."

"Mm, good soundtrack, that," Crowley said. "One of the better ones we saw together."

Aziraphale switched out the CDs and soon the car was filled with gothic, melancholy piano and sinister strings as the overture came on. He closed his eyes, and when it transitioned into Jekyll's first song, he followed along:

_Lost in the darkness, silence surrounds you_

_Once there was morning, now endless night_

_"What_ are you doing?" Crowley asked in disgust. "Please don't tell me you're going to sing."

"Why not?" Aziraphale asked indignantly. "These are lovely songs, and I know all the words. Besides, it's not like there's an audience around to hear me."

"And what am I?" Crowley asked even more indignantly.

"You're my backup singer," Aziraphale answered with a grin. "Come on, let's both sing. It'll be fun."

"Aziraphale, you _can't_ sing. I'm sorry, you can't. Plenty of stuff you're good at, but singing is not one of them."

"Well, I am sorry to say that I don't much care," Aziraphale retorted. "We are on holiday, and I am going to do as I please." He opened his mouth wide and sang even louder and more dramatically:

_I will find the answer, I'll never desert you_

_I promise you this till the day that I die_

Crowley heaved a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes. "You're impossible," he muttered.

Aziraphale ignored him. "Sing with me, dear boy!"

_If you can't beat him, join him, I guess._ Crowley sang the next verse:

_I need to know the nature of the demons that possess man's soul_

_I need to know why man's content to let them make him less than whole_

They both sang the rest, belting "I need to knoooow" as loud and as long as they could. Even though the song was a gloomy one, they were both giggling by the end of it. This was the happiest Crowley had felt since Armageddon. As long as he could control himself, everything should be cool.

"You can't sing either, you know," Aziraphale pointed out.

"Hey, I may not have a great singing voice, but at least I sing _on key_ ," Crowley said.

"'On key?' What does that mean?"

"Yeah, exactly."

The next song came on. They happily sang themselves hoarse, laughing in between verses as the Bentley took them further away from London and out into the world.


	3. Beach Bliss

They had sung their way through the first act when a sparkle outside the window caught Aziraphale's eye. "Crowley, look! The ocean."

The afternoon sunshine danced across the Atlantic, which stretched out beside the highway as far as they could see. Aziraphale switched off the music and leaned toward the open window. Seagulls chattered and circled overhead, no doubt hoping for food from the humans lounging about in the sand. The waves were gentle and small, just how the angel liked them. To top it off, the weather was unusually beautiful.

Crowley smiled. "Let me tempt you to a day at the beach?"

Aziraphale hesitated. He liked the beach in theory, but unlike Crowley, he wasn't what you would call a beach person. He spent days picking stubborn grains of sand off his person and his belongings, the constant winds blew the pages of his books every which way and made reading difficult, and the salt—the _blasted salt_ in the ocean was enough to make him question the Almighty's intelligence.

If he said no, however…well, Crowley already knew he was an uptight git. Aziraphale had suggested this road trip in no small part to prove he could be more than that. Then maybe Crowley would—well, he wouldn't think about that.

"Temptation accomplished." The words were barely out of his mouth before Crowley turned the Bentley into the nearest parking lot, where a convenient space had miraculously come free.

"This might be the one place where that ridiculous getup of yours will fit right in," Crowley said, slipping on his sunglasses. Aziraphale rolled his eyes playfully and stepped out of the car, grateful to stretch his legs. The hours had flown by so quickly he hadn't realized how long they had been driving. He had no idea where they were or how far they had traveled from London. The thought was exciting.

"Lucky I packed a beach bag," he said, retrieving it from the backseat. For all that Crowley grumbled about Aziraphale's habit of over-packing, he was sure his companion would thank him at some point. One never knew what could come in handy. The bag was stuffed with towels, sandals, a blanket, a few paperback "beach reads," as the bookshops called them, swimsuits, and of course, food. He took the bag and Crowley grabbed the cooler, heavy with ice and cold drinks. Once the car was locked up, they lugged their burdens up the deck stairs and onto the sand.

"When's the last time you reckon we were at the beach together?" Crowley asked, struggling to keep the cooler steady in his arms.

"Not sure," Aziraphale said. "1989, maybe? Certainly has been a while." _There's a reason for that._

And yet…the breeze and waves were gentle and the temperature was just right. He couldn't think of anyplace he'd rather be. He turned to Crowley, who was gritting his teeth and growling adorably (that cooler was getting heavier with every step), and thought that there was no place on Earth that couldn't be made better by having Crowley there.

"Here we go, my dear fellow," Aziraphale said, setting the beach bag down in a dry and fairly level spot. "This should do nicely."

"Finally!" Crowley all but dropped the cooler and panted. He pointed to Aziraphale. "When we head back, _you're_ carrying it."

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. "Am I?"

"You sure as shit are, because I am not."

Aziraphale bit back a laugh. "All right, then. When we return, I'll carry the cooler and you take the beach bag. Shall we shake on it?" He held out his hand. Crowley pumped it eagerly. Aziraphale giggled, eyes twinkling. "That works out perfectly for me, given that the cooler will be empty by then while the beach bag will be filled to the brim with soaking wet towels."

Crowley's mouth fell open. "But—that—that's not..." Aziraphale laughed delightedly. "That's not fair and you know it," Crowley sulked.

"No, I suppose not," Aziraphale agreed. "Tell you what: I promise to take whatever's heaviest. That sound better?" Crowley nodded. "Excellent. Now be a dear and help me spread the blanket, would you?"

They each took two ends and laid it carefully on the sand, weighing it down at opposite corners with the cooler and the beach bag so it wouldn't blow away. Aziraphale sat down, slipped his sandy shoes off, and reached for a water bottle. He shut his eyes at the cool relief washing over his tongue. The beach made everything taste better.

"I'm heading out to swim," Crowley said, kicking his sandals off. Once he was certain no one was looking, he miracled himself out of his street clothes and into his romper-style swimsuit. The street clothes went into the beach bag, folding themselves. "You coming?"

Aziraphale felt the slightest blush creep into his cheeks at the thought of being in the water with Crowley in their swimsuits. He hoped it wasn't noticeable.

_Safer if I stay here._ "No, thank you. You go ahead, I'll enjoy my book and the lovely sea breeze."

"All right. I'll be back." Was it Aziraphale's imagination, or did he sound disappointed? He strode down to the ocean with that swagger-filled snake walk of his, which was difficult to do on a beach full of loose sand. He stumbled once, and Aziraphale stifled a giggle. The surf was small and shallow enough that Crowley could wade right into it and walk a good distance without getting knocked over. Aziraphale watched his figure grow smaller and start to sink down into the water as he swam to the right, then to the left, never straying too far from their spot.

He had a peculiar feeling in his chest, something he couldn't quite name. It had happened a few times, and had been at its strongest when he and Crowley had been at the bandstand. The words "go off together" had stirred up something inside him, something Aziraphale hadn't known was there and wasn't sure what to do about. It was flaring up again now, as Crowley extended one long, bare arm out of the ocean and then another. London was so cold that it wasn't often they saw each other's arms exposed like that.

On second thought, swimming sounded rather nice.

Aziraphale checked for onlookers and then miracled himself into his swimsuit, which was similar to Crowley's but lighter in color. He treaded carefully down to the water, stepping over shells, sand castles, and what may have been the carcass of a jellyfish.

"Look who decided to have some fun," Crowley teased.

Aziraphale winced inside. _I can be fun. Honest._ He turned up his nose mockingly. "I simply decided it would be nice to have a dip, that's all." He waded further into the water, the cold welcome on his hot feet. The waves were mostly gentle, but picking up speed. Sand sucked at his toes and even while standing, he could feel the ocean pulling him in. Crowley was leaning into it, letting the tide take him wherever it wished. Back, forth, back, forth. He was so mesmerizing that Aziraphale almost missed hearing him speak.

"Angel! Hello?"

"Oh! Um, yes?" He shook his head, focusing on Crowley's amused smile.

"It's not exactly relaxing if you just stand there all stiff." He waved his arm. "Come on. It's just a little water."

"Er—yes. Coming." Good lord, his body's heartbeat grew faster and faster the closer he moved to Crowley. The water warmed and lifted him off his feet, letting him skim the sand and drift weightlessly. As they were pulled further, he kept looking back to check that their things had been undisturbed until Crowley said in an exasperated tone, "It's _fine_ , Angel, stop worrying. Nobody wants your old books and your tartan beach towel."

Aziraphale pursed his lips but decided Crowley was right. They could always miracle anything back if they absolutely had to. He followed Crowley until they were shoulder-deep in the water, then bodysurfed or dove under the waves.

"You gotta learn to loosen up now and then," Crowley chided him. "Go with the flow." He stretched out his arms and floated on his back with a happy sigh.

_I'm trying._ "Hmph. I'll have you know that I only double-checked my luggage to make sure I had everything _three_ times this morning instead of four. If that isn't loose, I don't know what is."

"You're right about that," Crowley said. He sat up. "Uh oh, here's a big one. Better duck!" He dove down just before a roaring wave headed toward them, fast and full of churning foam. Aziraphale just barely had time to shut his eyes and pinch his nose closed before it bowled him over, sending him backwards and to the right, flinging sand all over his body and leaving him coughing and sputtering. He pushed himself to the surface, spitting out the salt that had found its way into his mouth.

"You all right?" Crowley asked from where he'd popped up a few feet away.

"Perfectly," Aziraphale said after a few more coughs. "I love all the…water." Indeed, he wasn't loving it so much anymore. The waves were more forceful now, and some of the parents on shore were retrieving their little ones for fear it had gotten too rough. At least it was still cool enough to give him some relief from the heat.

He rubbed his eyes, brushed sand from his legs, and tried to shake it off. They were on holiday, after all, and he was absolutely capable of "loosening up," no matter what Crowley said, and he'd prove it. Aziraphale swam back to where they'd been and splashed him playfully.

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" Crowley splashed him too, and they went back and forth with splashing and trying to dunk each other under the water, giggling all the while, when Crowley pointed behind Aziraphale. "Oi, look out! There's a huge one!"

This time Aziraphale didn't wait to close his nose and eyes. He pushed himself under the water immediately and braced himself for a huge, powerful, monstrous…wait, where was it? Aziraphale looked around, but underwater, he couldn't see anything but green, and the salt stung his eyes. There was no roaring sound like before, and the water seemed fairly still for the moment. Had the big wave already passed and he hadn't felt it? No, that couldn't be. It had to be on its way. He dared a quick look and popped his head above the surface.

Crowley was laughing.

"You're so gullible, Angel." He was shaking his head with the widest grin Aziraphale had ever seen on him. "I never thought you'd take me so seriously. My plan was just to get you to look behind for a second so I could splash you, but no, you just popped right underwater like that!" He snapped his fingers. "Ah, you're a funny thing, you are."

"I see nothing amusing whatsoever about lying!" Aziraphale snapped. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Making me think I was about to be attacked by a dangerous tidal wave!"

"You just make it so damn _easy_ ," Crowley teased. "But all right, no more tricks. Come on, let's swim back to where our spot is." They had drifted almost out of sight of it.

"I should hope not," Aziraphale said, but followed Crowley anyway. There his heart went again, beating like it was trying to escape from his chest. Something about Crowley's laugh and smile was sticking in his head and making him want to smile too.

_But he lied to me!_ Aziraphale thought to himself. _He shouldn't get away with that even if he did look adorable doing it._ He turned to look at the waves, trying to hide the blush creeping into his cheeks. That peculiar feeling was back. Worse, it was spreading. It sparked and danced like a flame in his belly, and he could feel it down to the tips of his fingers and toes. He hoped it wasn't obvious.

"Hey!" A rush of water hit him right in the face. "Why do you keep spacing out like that?" Crowley frowned. "Something on your mind?"

"Ye—no! No, no, no, nothing on my mind at all. Why would there be something on my mind? Do I _look_ like I have something on my mind?" Aziraphale bit his tongue. Crowley seemed suspicious, and Aziraphale quickly splashed him as a distraction. That led to another back-and-forth until Crowley dunked him underwater for the second time, laughing and swimming away before he could come up and retaliate.

Little did he know that Aziraphale had the perfect comeback.

Being dunked underwater put him close to the sand, and he grinned as he grabbed up a fistful of it. Careful to keep his hand under the water and out of sight, he moved closer to Crowley, who was still laughing.

"Yes, yes, very good, you got me. Now do you mind holding still a second? You've got some seaweed in your hair, and I'd like to help you get it out."

Crowley frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "Really? I don't feel anything."

"It's tiny pieces, and they're wedged in pretty deep. Just hold still for a moment, will you?"

"Yeah, okay."

Aziraphale grinned wickedly as he took the fistful of sand and plopped it onto Crowley's hair, working it in and batting away his hands as he yelled, "Hey! What are you doing? Stop it! Angel, no, not my hair!"

"An eye for an eye, as they say," Aziraphale said smugly. That red mop was now mangled with sand. Crowley growled and tried to brush it out, but most of it stayed put.

"Thought that messiah fellow of yours said revenge wasn't allowed anymore."

"Ah, but it is also written that the wicked shall receive their just desserts, and you, my dear, have been _very_ wicked."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "On second thought, maybe you should go back to being uptight. I think you've loosened up a little too much."

"Seems you've rubbed off on me then," Aziraphale said, and tried to ignore the weakness in his knees at the thought of Crowley rubbing anything anywhere. He needed to get over this feeling. Someone as cool and fast-living as Crowley could never be happy with a doddering old fool like himself. Otherwise, he would have made a move after Armageddon, wouldn't he? He always took the initiative in their relationship, and he surely wouldn't like Aziraphale overstepping those bounds.

Crowley was about to say something, then turned. "Oh, shit. That wave looks huge."

"Ha! I'm not so gullible that I would fall for the same trick twice."

"No Angel, I mean it this time." He pointed to the side. "Look, you can see how the top is curling and it's gathering all the water underneath it."

"Mm-hmm. You just want me to turn my head so you can tackle me or throw sand at me or do whatever nasty thing you were planning to do."

"Fine. Don't believe me, but I'm getting the heck out of the way." Crowley crouched down and covered his face before lowering himself to the sandy ocean floor. _He sure is dedicated to this little prank._ But Aziraphale would show him. He would not fall for it a second time. He would—

"Agh!" he yelled as water slammed into his back, knocking him to his knees and flipping him over before sweeping him far to the left. He was pushed forward all the way to the shoreline, scraping his knees against the grainy sand and flailing until finally the wave released him. Aziraphale gasped for breath and coughed, his nose and throat full of saltwater. Footsteps came close and stopped next to him, and a gentle hand was on his back.

"Hate to say I told you so," Crowley said, though there was no satisfaction in it. "Big one, eh? And it didn't even make any sounds, so it sneaks up on you."

When Aziraphale could speak, he said in a shaky voice, "I think I've had enough of the ocean for now." Proving himself be damned. "I'm going to go stand under the shower and then sit on our blanket and eat lunch while I dry off."

Crowley nodded. "Sounds like a good idea. Think I'll join you." With those words, the flame inside Aziraphale reignited. He followed Crowley to the outdoor shower by the parking lot and stood shyly by, watching him rinse the sand out of his hair (with no shortage of griping and grumbling about how it was all Aziraphale's fault) and run his pale hands over his beautiful body. Aziraphale could have watched him all day.

"Your turn," Crowley said when he finished. Though he was disappointed he couldn't watch him a bit longer, Aziraphale was relieved to feel the cool, non-salty water running over him in a gentle spray and sending the sand to the ground. He miracled away whatever the shower couldn't reach, and felt like a new angel afterwards.

"Lovely," he sighed with contentment. "Now let's have lunch. All that swimming has made me work up quite the appetite." He rubbed his stomach, which was reminding him how long it had been since breakfast.

They made their way back to the blanket, which, as Crowley predicted, was undisturbed. After drying off as much as they could and spreading out their towels, they sat down together. Aziraphale tried not to think about how close they were sitting. Their shoulders were practically touching.

"What's for lunch?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale answered quickly, grateful for the distraction. "Sandwiches! I made or bought two of them for each of us. Yours is from that deli you like. And there's some packets of crisps as well. And some water and soda bottles in here too. Thought that would be better for the beach than wine."

"Suppose so." Crowley opened the picnic basket and took out a soda bottle and one of the sandwiches wrapped in brown paper. "Ah, you even remembered to ask for extra pickles and no mayonnaise. Appreciate that." He opened the soda bottle and took a huge gulp. "Ah, just right. And chilled too, that really makes it good."

Aziraphale shrugged, trying to hide a smile that was tugging at the corners of his face. "Of course. We should both have what we like." He took his own food and drink and set the picnic basket aside.

"Oi, make sure you close that!" Crowley said, leaning over Aziraphale to snap the lid down and tie it. He was almost in Aziraphale's lap, and he could only hope Crowley couldn't feel his heart.

"Don't want any seagulls getting into it now," he said, moving back.

"Y-yes, of course. Jolly good."

Aziraphale unwrapped a sandwich, brought it to his mouth, and right on cue, a seagull landed beside him, looking up at him expectantly.

Crowley flicked his hand at it, sending a few grains of sand in its direction. "Go on! Shoo."

"There's no need for that," Aziraphale said, taking a bite. _Mm, nice and filling._ Nothing like chicken and cheese, and the soft bread and salty air made them even better. "They're just living creatures who need to eat."

"Yeah, well, they're living creatures who can get their own damn food," Crowley said, stuffing his own sandwich into his mouth. "Beat it!" he yelled at the seagull, who nervously backed away.

Aziraphale was shocked. "Crowley, I'm surprised at you! You feed the ducks at St. James' Park on a regular basis."

"That's a different animal. Literally _and_ figuratively."

Aziraphale pinched off a piece of his sandwich. Seeing what he was doing, the seagull lifted its head and stepped forward again. Crowley's face turned to despair. He shook his head frantically.

"Oh no no no no, _please_ don't feed it. _Please._ I am actually begging you, don't do it."

"Why not? It's just a little bit; it's not going to hurt it." He tossed it to the seagull, and smiled at how quickly the bird gobbled it up. "There! That ought to help fill up your tummy."

Crowley threw up his hands. "You've done it now."

"Done what?"

"I give it two minutes before we're surrounded."

"Surrounded by what? Oh look, there's more of them!"

"Of course there are," Crowley said with disgust. He grabbed his sandwich and soda and stood up to eat a few feet away. "Have fun with that."

"Have fun with wha—oh. Oh, good lord." The three or four seagulls that had joined the original just a second ago had now grown to around ten or fifteen. A few more were descending toward the sand just behind them.

"Oh dear. Um…well, see, I don't think I have enough for all of you. I mean, obviously, there needs to be _some_ sandwich left for me." He began to feel nervous as the seagulls moved in closer, growing more numerous by the second. Some landed behind on his other side, making him feel trapped.

"Surrounded in only forty-five seconds! That's a new record," Crowley called out with a mouthful of sandwich.

"Not helping, Crowley!" Aziraphale snapped. The seagulls inched ever closer. He backed away. "Uh—right. See, I hadn't planned on…oh, all right, I suppose I _do_ have another sandwich." He tossed the rest of it far over the seagulls' heads, and they wasted no time fighting each other for bites of it. Aziraphale sighed in relief and quickly took his other sandwich from the beach bag. Fortunately, it was the same kind. He had just unwrapped it and started to take a bite when a loud _caw_ near his ear made him jump.

More seagulls than he could count were standing right up against him, treading onto the blanket and glaring, eyes locked onto the sandwich in his hand. The one in front was honking while the others had gone quiet.

"N-now see here," Aziraphale said, trying to sound firm. "You all had yours, but now _this_ ," he pointed to the sandwich. "This is mine. I deserve food too, you know."

"They don't know, actually."

_"Not helping, Crowley!"_

The seagull in front hopped onto Aziraphale's leg, making him jump and fall backward. _Caw!_ it said indignantly.

"Go away!" Aziraphale cried frantically, batting at it with his hand. "Shoo, scat!" The bird ignored him and bit into the sandwich. "No!" He tugged on the other end. "You _stupid_ bird! Give it back."

The seagull continued to chomp away with its friends moving in as backup. In seconds, the sandwich had been wrested from his hand, his fingers had been bitten, and Aziraphale had been knocked backwards by seagulls climbing all over him and picking at stray crumbs that had fallen onto his swimsuit. Soon all he could see was feathers and stick feet and his ears were filled with _caw, caw, caw,_ and he was just opening his mouth to scream when he heard a new sound: a hiss.

The honking grew more frantic but dimmed as the seagulls made a hasty retreat. In place of feathers and stick feet were dark scales slithering protectively around Aziraphale's waist and back and over his shoulder. A forked tongue darted in and out of Crowley's mouth as he bared his considerable teeth at the seagulls, which were quickly flying away. Aziraphale exhaled when the last one was high in the sky.

"Thank you," he said to the snake's head. It nodded and gave Aziraphale one last squeeze in reassurance before releasing him and turning back into Crowley's human form. He snapped his fingers, and the humans around them began to move again.

"Greedy buggers, aren't they?"

"Yes," Aziraphale sighed mournfully. "I was so looking forward to that sandwich and barely even got a nibble."

"There's another one in the bag."

"No there isn't, I only packed two."

"Yes, there is. I saw a third one when I was looking in there earlier."

Aziraphale huffed and opened the bag. "No there isn't. I know what I packed, Crowley, and I can tell you there is not—another sandwich!" His mouth fell open as he held up a fresh, perfectly wrapped sandwich exactly like the two he'd just lost. "But I'm _certain_ I only packed two."

Crowley looked away toward the ocean, but not before Aziraphale caught a suspicious grin on his face, which he quickly tried to hide by pressing a fist to his mouth. "Your memory must be going, Angel, if you can't even remember what you packed this morning" he teased. The wind lifted his hair up to the sunlight, softening his face.

He was the most beautiful sight Aziraphale had ever seen.

"Yes," he said softly. "I believe it is." He risked just a slight touch on the arm. "Good thing I have you."

Crowley tensed, and for a second Aziraphale worried he'd gone too far, but then he relaxed. "Damn right," he said. "Those birds would have eaten you alive."

Aziraphale chuckled. "Perhaps." He took a big bite of his sandwich, savoring every second.

Since both their mouths were full of food and drink, neither said much for the next half hour. Crowley lay back with his sunglasses, soaking up the rays while Aziraphale tried not to seem fascinated by this.

After some time had passed, he worked up the courage to ask, "What would you say to a walk on the beach?"

"Sounds nice." They wrapped up their refreshments and headed down the shoreline. Aziraphale had no idea how far they walked. The beach seemed to go on forever, and there was always something to see. Parasailers, kite flyers, frisbee throwers, dogs on leashes, sailboats, shells, sunbathers, hermit crabs, and even the occasional dolphin jumping out of the water. He and Crowley alternated between conversing about everything under the sun and enjoying the sounds of the beach. Sometimes they stopped for a swim if they found a spot of water that wasn't too crowded, bodysurfing the waves.

The sun was low in the sky by the time they returned to their blanket and dropped to it. "That's the most walking I've done in years," Crowley said. "I could stand to watch the sunset, but after that I'll be ready to call it a day."

"Same here," Aziraphale said. "I'll be glad to get back in the car."

"The only question is where to next?"

"Preferably someplace with a bed. I'm knackered."

"Let me see if there's a hotel around here." Crowley dug his phone out of the beach bag and began to search for nearby lodging. Aziraphale packed up their possessions and snapped his fingers to clear the remaining sand from their bodies. At that point, he didn't care if it _was_ being tracked. No way was he spending days picking those grains off himself again.

"Ah, here we go. Found a place not too far from here." Crowley locked his phone and stored it in the bag. He lay back, took off his shades, and relaxed as the sun sank behind the horizon. "Beautiful, look at that."

"Yes." Aziraphale lay back next to him. That felt right, somehow, lying next to each other side by side. He wished he could hold Crowley's hand without it being awkward; it would have been wonderfully romantic under a pink sky with the soothing sound of waves. They were practically lulling him to sleep, and his eyes were closed when Crowley whispered that it was almost dark now and they should really get going.

"Lead the way, dear," he said, forcing his eyes open. He held out his hand, hoping Crowley would take it for just a minute. To at least help pull him to his feet.

He did.


	4. Spa Day

"Wake up, Aziraphale. We're here."

"Mm, what?" Aziraphale blinked. He had never fallen asleep in the Bentley, or any other form of transportation, for that matter. Often the only way he fell asleep was under a stack of soft blankets next to the fire with a tummy full of warm milk and eyes exhausted from hours of reading. And even then, it only lasted an hour at most before he woke up and read some more.

"Beach tired you out, huh?" Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow. "You just leaned against the window and conked out on me. I played some of the most blasphemous music I own, and you didn't even stir."

Aziraphale yawned and stretched. His bum was sore from too much sitting that day, and he looked forward to lying down. "Well, I'm awake now, so let's get us some rooms, shall we?" He didn't wait for an answer before opening the door and stepping out.

The hotel was a nice one; in fact, Aziraphale thought it was a little too nice for just one night. Even from the parking lot, he could see through the automatic doors to a sparkling lobby with a floor that looked so clean you could eat off it. He was most happy to see a luggage cart sitting idly next to a lift; the last thing he wanted to do was lug all of their suitcases up several flights of stairs to their rooms.

"Summer Beach Resort and Spa," he read. The hotel's name was written in elegant script across the building, and was printed on the entryway awning as well. "Sounds very upscale. Are you sure this is where you want to stay?"

"You're asking _me_ that?" Crowley asked, pointing to the watch on his wrist that cost twenty thousand pounds when he bought it and a similar amount to maintain. "I'm not the one who buys all his books secondhand and is still wearing clothes from two centuries ago. Are you sure _you_ want to stay here?"

He had a good point, but Aziraphale wasn't about to admit that. "I'm weary enough to stay in the shabbiest of hostels at this point," he said. "But I'm sure since you chose it, we'll have a nice time here."

Crowley gave a nod of thanks and locked the Bentley. They walked across the perfectly paved, perfectly smooth parking lot through the automatic doors and up to the immaculately marbled check-in desk.

"May I help you, sirs?" the staff member asked, looking with barely concealed disdain at Crowley's jeans and Aziraphale's moth-eaten vest. They'd miracled themselves back into their normal clothes upon getting in the car after the beach (minus the Hawaiian getup and fanny pack, which had not-so-mysteriously gone missing).

"Yes, we'd like to stay here for the night. Possibly two nights." That would keep them from being rushed out in the morning.

"Do you have a reservation?"

"He would have told you if we did," Crowley muttered.

"Shh, I'll handle this," Aziraphale said gently, steering him to the side of the counter. They had an unspoken rule that whenever they needed to talk to a human for something other than ordering food, it was always Aziraphale who did the talking. He was far better at feigning politeness and getting people to trust him. Crowley's sarcasm and snark had gotten them into more than a few unpleasant situations before.

"No, we do not have a reservation," he said. "But we saw that your parking lot still had plenty of free spaces and assumed you must have some rooms available."

The employee typed something into the computer. "Yes, we do, but we'll have to charge you an extra fee for booking without notice."

"That will be fine," Aziraphale said smoothly, trying to ignore the way Crowley was mimicking them both in that irritating way of his. He could tell the employee was working hard to do the same.

"I assume you'll be needing two?"

"Yes, of course, two—" Crowley had stopped mocking them. He was looking at Aziraphale now, and his eyes were hurt. _Why? Did I say something wrong?_

Noticing Aziraphale's questioning glance, Crowley turned away. He took his sunglasses from his pocket and slipped them on.

"Beds," Aziraphale said suddenly. "Two beds. In one room. Yes, that's what I meant. One room for the two of us, but we each need our own bed." He blinked. Where the hell had that come from? That hadn't been what he'd meant to say at all. He and Crowley always had their own spaces.

Oh dear, what if he'd crossed a line? He hadn't even asked before making the request.

He forced himself to look at Crowley. To his surprise, both the hurt and the shades were gone. He even had a small smile on his face.

"All right, two beds for the happy couple." Aziraphale fought back another blush—he had done far too much blushing today, it wasn't decent—and signed the paper saying he agreed to pay the total and the extra fee.

"Here are your room keys, the Wi-Fi password, and a list of our amenities. You're in room 6677. Enjoy your stay." She handed them over with the tightest of smiles and glared when Crowley snatched them out of her hand. Aziraphale thanked her and followed him to the luggage cart, which he wasted no time in rolling out to the Bentley and loading up with as many bags and suitcases as he could get on it. Once they were in the lift and on their way up, Aziraphale read aloud the list of amenities.

"24-hour convenience store, ATM, free parking, free Wi-Fi, outdoor pool with jacuzzi, restaurant and bar, room service, exercise facilities, dry cleaning, and spa." He slipped the card into his pocket. "Shame they don't have a library."

"Does it give any details about the spa?" Crowley asked, looking up from his phone. The first thing he did in any hotel was connect his phone or whatever device he was using at the time to Wi-Fi. For some reason, Wi-Fi was extremely important, although Aziraphale doubted this. After all, he didn't even know what Wi-Fi was and he managed to survive without it just fine.

He checked the card. "Some. It says they offer massages, facials, manicures, pedicures, and…hair removal? Strange. Why would anyone want to remove their hair at a spa? Couldn't they just go to a barber and have it cut?"

Crowley laughed and shook his head. "Angel, you are way too innocent for your own good sometimes." The lift doors opened and he stepped out before Aziraphale could ask what he meant by that.

"Let's see, Room 6677," Crowley said to himself as Aziraphale followed behind him, pushing the luggage cart. "Gotta be around here somewhere…ah! Here we are." He tapped his room key against the scanner, and the light turned from red to green. Crowley held it open for Aziraphale, helped him unload the cart, and then returned it to the hall.

"Shouldn't we take that back downstairs?" Aziraphale pointed out.

"Nah, let them deal with that," Crowley said, waving him away. Seeing Aziraphale's disapproval, he added, "You can certainly do it if it helps you sleep tonight, but I say it's their job."

Aziraphale was too tired to pursue it further, especially when those queen beds looked so soft and inviting. "Suppose you're right." He sat on the bed Crowley hadn't already occupied and miracled himself into his pajamas. Up until recently, he had worn the same white nightgown he'd used since the nineteenth century, but Crowley had talked him into trying some tartan trousers and a soft cotton T-shirt. Aziraphale had resisted them at first, but he had to admit, he rather liked them. They were quite warm and felt good against his skin. The bed felt even better, and he sighed happily as he finally lay on his back and rested against the pillows.

Seeing as Crowley had begun to unpack his few belongings and change into his own sleepwear, Aziraphale took the opportunity to look around the room. It was a nice one, with a flat screen television, miniature refrigerator, microwave, small table and chairs, two nightstands, and what appeared to be a spacious bathroom. What pleased Aziraphale most were the balcony with outdoor seating and the beautiful writing desk, which had a lovely little lamp on it and an ergonomic chair to match. He loved a good writing desk. The thought made him a tad homesick for his own. He rarely spent an evening away from the bookshop unless his work demanded it (which of course it hadn't, not since Armageddon).

"How long do you want to stay here?" Crowley asked.

"I suppose tonight and tomorrow, to give us time to decide where we want to go next."

"Yeah, that sounds about right. I figure we should at least give ourselves enough time for a session at the spa."

Aziraphale sat up. "Why? What would we do there?"

"Whatever they've got. After all we've been through, we've earned it."

"Whatever they—Crowley, I don't care what they say, they are _not_ removing my hair!" He covered his blonde curls with his arms, clutching the fluffy texture for dear life. "I refuse. Do you know how difficult it is to maintain this exact length and color and how many products I—Crowley, stop laughing!"

The demon was doubled over in giggles. "Ah, you're really something," he said, the picture of amusement. "Well, don't worry, we don't have to do anything you don't want to. But the whole point of a spa is that they help you relax and feel good. Haven't you ever been to one?"

_Oh, dear._ Was this another one of those "loosen up" things that worrywarts like him wouldn't know? He thought fast. "Well, I've been in hot tubs, if that's what you mean."

"But you've never gotten a massage or a mani-pedi? Ever?"

Aziraphale wrung the sheets in his hands. "I've never had a massage, no. I assume a 'mani-pedi' is some type of food?"

Crowley grinned. "Nah, it's better. Come on down with me tomorrow, and I'll show you just what a spa day can do. You'll enjoy it, I promise."

"Well, all right," Aziraphale said cautiously. He still wasn't a hundred percent convinced they wouldn't try and remove his hair. But he trusted Crowley, and thanks to him, Aziraphale had discovered countless items and activities he never would have otherwise. He closed his eyes and pulled the blankets over him, remembering their times together.

Difficult though it was at times, being with Crowley made every day something of an adventure. He always wanted to try something different and new, which had been tricky to get used to at first. Though the two of them liked to mock the angels for being stuck in their ways and only enjoying somewhere around three things, Aziraphale hated to admit that some of these qualities lingered within himself as well. He had a routine, and he got comfortable in it. Even when he eventually got bored and wanted to change things up, he wasn't always sure how.

Hw had gone to see Shakespeare and Dickens' work on stage every year for decades or centuries until Crowley insisted he try cinema. Aziraphale resisted at first, but consented to have his arm twisted when he learned that he could see the characters of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, two personal favorites, on screen. He loved it, had done his best to watch every adaptation of his favorite books since, and was always willing to accompany Crowley to the cinema.

_Maybe the spa will be like this too_ , he thought hopefully as he closed his eyes. Sleep actually sounded good tonight. _Maybe it'll be another adventure…_

* * *

Despite being an early riser most days, Aziraphale didn't rouse from bed until around 10:30 the next morning. Funnily enough, he didn't feel as bad about that as he normally did. Back home, he felt terribly guilty starting the day any later than nine at the latest since it seemed like so much of it had already been wasted. Now, he felt just right.

An early morning for Crowley on the other hand was somewhere around noon, so naturally he was still sleeping like a log with an arm dangling over the side of the bed. His hair was, dare Aziraphale even think it, _adorable_ after a night of rolling around in bed. The blankets reached his chin and his head was on the very edge of the pillow.

Feeling drawn to him like a magnet, Aziraphale carefully rearranged his sleeping position to be a little more comfortable. It certainly wouldn't do to have Crowley waking up complaining of an ache in his arm or a head that was sore from being placed too low. Once he was satisfied, Aziraphale stood back and watched him sleep. That feeling from the beach was back again; Crowley was somehow as beautiful in pajamas with bedhead as he had been in a swimsuit with the wind stirring his hair. He could watch him like that all day, and likely would have had it not been for the impatient stirrings in his stomach letting him know that it was time for breakfast. And what's more, this hotel offered room service.

Aziraphale picked up the menu on the table and studied it. Limited choices and ridiculously overpriced, but right now, anything sounded good. Taking care to speak softly on the phone so as not to wake Crowley, he ordered an omelet with tea and assorted muffins for himself and a Belgian waffle with black coffee for Crowley. He counted out the money and a generous tip, then dug out one of his books to read until the knock at the door, which caused Crowley to stir and groan.

"Thank you very much," Aziraphale said as he paid and took the tray into their room.

"Mm, whazzat?" Crowley asked, eyes half-closed and hair still rumpled. Gosh, Aziraphale wanted to run his hand through it. Maybe even plant a kiss on his foreh—oh, dear, what on earth was he thinking?

He forced himself to smile and set the tray on the nightstand between their beds. "Good morning! Nice to see you awake. I took the liberty of ordering some breakfast for you, but if you'd rather go back to sleep, that's perfectly okay. I'll just, um, be over here on my side." Locking eyes with his omelet, Aziraphale retreated to his bed and began to shovel big bites of it into his mouth.

"What's got you all jittery this morning?" Crowley asked, sitting up and reaching for the tray. He'd evidently decided to forgo extra sleep and help himself to breakfast. "I don't think I've ever seen you eat so fast."

_Well, I didn't expect you to look like THAT after sleeping!_ Aziraphale thought. He cleared his throat. "Jittery? I'm not jittery. What makes you think I'm jittery? I'm merely excited for the day ahead. Places to do, people to go, things to see. Wait." He frowned. "That came out wrong."

Crowley shrugged. "It is nice to wake up somewhere else and eat a different breakfast." He drank his coffee in big gulps. "And especially nice to have it brought to us in bed. I say we do room service everywhere we stay."

"I couldn't agree more," Aziraphale said, and he meant it. Much as he enjoyed a good restaurant, there was something wonderful about eating in the quiet comfort of one's own space with no server interrupting. Deep down, he thought it especially lovely that this meant he could have Crowley all to himself. That notion made him feel nervous again, and he quickly changed the subject.

"So when do we go to this spa place? I must admit you've piqued my curiosity."

"Whenever we want," Crowley said. "I say right after we finish breakfast and get freshened up. I know I need a shower because I can _still_ feel salt in my hair and sand in some places."

"Yes, I probably need one too."

"You do. In fact, you can be first."

Aziraphale gave him a look but couldn't really argue that. "All right then, I will go first," he said, and set his plate on the table.

* * *

A few hours later, Aziraphale and Crowley were perfectly groomed, dressed in fresh clothes, and at the entrance to the Summer Beach Resort's golden-paneled spa. The lighting was much dimmer than the lobby, as it was lit mostly by candles, and the whole place smelled of something very nice that Aziraphale couldn't name.

"Welcome to the spa at Summer Beach Resort. What luxury can we offer you today?" a syrupy-sweet clerk behind the counter asked.

"All of it," Crowley said. "I'll take the Spoil Me package, including a couple's massage with him." He nodded to Aziraphale.

"Couple's?" Aziraphale jumped. What did that mean? Was that Crowley's way of declaring something? Did he want to pretend they were a couple to blend in?

"That way we can both get our massages at the same time," Crowley explained. "For a couple's, they have two tables side by side instead of just one."

"Oh. Oh, yes, I see." _Clear as coal._ Did Crowley want them to get their massages together because they were friends? Was Aziraphale reading too much into it?

Both Crowley and the clerk were oblivious to Aziraphale's internal quandary. "All right, the Spoil Me package consists of a sixty-minute session for your couple's massage, plus a facial of your choice, manicure, pedicure, foot rub, and an enhancement of your choosing. It should take about four hours total."

"Sounds good." Crowley handed over his miracled cash, signed the waiver with Aziraphale, and headed into the back with a grin. "Four hours of pampering. _Now_ it's a holiday."

"Doesn't that seem like a bit much?" Aziraphale asked. He couldn't imagine just lying around for four hours and was beginning to wish he'd brought a book with him.

"Spoken like someone who's never had a spa day. In here, this is where we undress." He beckoned Aziraphale to an even more dimly lit room where two tables stood next to each other with soft blankets folded on top of them. Soothing nature sounds like gentle rain and ocean waves were playing through a speaker in the ceiling. The smell from before was even stronger in here.

"So we lie on these tables and…strangers touch us? All over?"

"They rub you down, yeah. Don't worry, I know you don't want to get naked. I'm just taking my shirt off myself." He began to loosen his scarf.

"I never said that."

Crowley looked up. Aziraphale took off his coat, trying not to think of how he was about to see Crowley topless and hoping his body wouldn't betray his excitement. "I'm perfectly fine getting naked, I just wanted to make sure I understand how it all works."

"You—you are?" Crowley's mouth fell open. "You're actually okay with other people seeing you naked?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "The human body is nothing to be ashamed of." _Crowley must think I wear these clothes because I'm a prude_ , he thought unbuttoning his vest. The truth was, he just loved them. He had, ahem, "been around the block" with a few humans before and never felt bad about it. It was a natural process, after all. Though after Gabriel's comment, he did become self-conscious about his waistline. Hopefully Crowley wouldn't notice it too much.

"Oh. Er—yeah. Right. Nothing to be ashamed of." Something in Crowley's tone made Aziraphale stop and look up. He had taken his shoes, jacket, and shirt off, but his arms were crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes were fixed on the wall and his legs were unnaturally close together. He made no move to take off his trousers. Aziraphale tried to think how to ask him about it while he removed the rest of his clothing and folded it neatly in a chair.

There was a knock at the door, and after Crowley bade them come in, it opened and two masseuses greeted them in soft voices. "Hello, we'll be taking care of you today. Whenever you're ready, go ahead and lie down and we'll get right to work."

"Thanks," Crowley said. He wasted no time lying flat on his belly and covered his back with the blanket before turning his head away. Aziraphale was puzzled and a little hurt. The whole point of the couple's massage was so that they could enjoy this experience together, so why was Crowley making an effort to look away from him? What's more, why was he covering himself from feet to chin if the idea of a massage was for them to rub your skin? Why had he even bothered taking his shirt off, and why the shirt but not the trousers? He could have still left his pants on if he didn't want anyone to see between the legs.

_Just when I think I know him perfectly, he surprises me._ Aziraphale tried to shrug it off. He couldn't let this little puzzle ruin a nice time. He lay down on the table and moaned happily when he discovered it was heated. Ah, he felt good already.

"Do you want the blanket?" his masseuse asked him.

"No, thank you. I'm fine like this," he said. He rested his head on the little pillow they'd provided. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crowley widen his eyes, which were still locked into a staring contest with the wall. They had a strange look to them, almost sad. But that didn't make sense, what could Crowley possibly have to be sad about? Just minutes ago, he'd been excited for pampering.

"Sir, do you want me to try and massage you through the blanket?" Crowley's masseuse asked, as puzzled as Aziraphale was.

"Oh, uh, no, you can pull it down. 'S fine," he said. He turned his head away, cheeks pink.

_Curious indeed._

"Now just relax," the masseuses said. "We'll start out nice and slow." Crowley closed his eyes and Aziraphale did the same. The hands on his back were warm and soothing, and he could feel his muscles going limp as she slowly dug into the knots and loosened up the tension, which there had been plenty of. His body had been at its tensest just months ago with everything that had gone down, and sometimes he still worried that Heaven or Hell or both would find out what he and Crowley had done.

Yet all of that faded away under this firm but gentle touch. Aziraphale groaned quietly as knot after knot was loosened and his body slumped down into the warm table. The sounds from the speakers were lulling him to sleep, and he could tell Crowley was getting there too. Such a beautiful feeling…relaxing…

"Wake up!" Hands clapped in front of his face. "I'm sorry, but your session is over."

"Already?" He was sure he had just closed his eyes two minutes ago. "How long was I asleep?"

"About forty-five minutes. How are you feeling?"

"Amazing," he said, pulling himself up with a yawn. "You are quite good at this."

"Thank you, I appreciate that." She turned to Crowley. He was sitting up with the blanket wrapped around his top half. "Are you ready for the facial and foot rub?"

"You bet," he said. Crowley jumped down from the table and reached for his clothes without letting go of the blanket. "I'll be here for a few more hours, Angel. You going back to the room?"

The thought of dragging himself up six floors and sitting alone in a hotel room with nothing to do could not have sounded less appealing. Aziraphale shook his head. "You know, I think I would prefer to stay down here." Turning to the masseuse, he asked with a grin, "Would it be possible for me to upgrade to the Spoil Me package as well?"

* * *

"Oh, that was _marvelous_ ," Aziraphale said. "Fantastic, beautiful, absolutely—"

"Yes, all right, we get it," Crowley said, but good-naturedly. "So I turned out to be right after all, didn't I?"

"A spa day certainly is a luxurious experience." The two of them were lying side by side fully clothed in big padded chairs as nail technicians worked at their fingers and toes. They had enjoyed facials and foot rubs, and, at Aziraphale's suggestion, aromatherapy with lilac and lavender scents for their enhancement. Now they had only a little time left for their manicures and pedicures before their treatment was over. Aziraphale had never felt so at peace, and with such soft skin! He had touched his face over and over just to revel in the facial's magic. Every movement was easier after the massage, and his body felt more flexible than it had in years.

"You know a spa day was good when you don't want it to end," Crowley said. "I've had some good ones, but this may be my best yet."

"We're always glad to hear that," the nail technician said. She blew on the newly applied polish. Crowley had opted for a black color to complement his outfit, and Aziraphale had decided to try a clear color to make his nails look normal but shiny. By the time the nail technician was finished, he was quite pleased with the results.

"Perhaps I should paint my nails more often," he said, examining them. They shone in the light. "Pity the ones on my feet won't be seen." He wiggled his toes, which matched his fingers.

"Which is exactly why the toes should be where you experiment," Crowley said, wiggling his own. Figuring no one was going to see them anyway, Crowley had chosen a different color for each toe, all of them a bright neon. The nail technician had not been amused.

"Next time," Aziraphale said. "Because after this experience, I'm sure there will be a next time." He sighed. "But until then, you and I still have to decide where we want to go next."

"Where are you headed?" the technician asked, capping the bottles of polish.

"We don't know," Crowley told her. "We're just exploring. Taking an international road trip."

"Well, there is one place you might consider," she said, smiling. "Just down the road from here, about a few hours' drive, is an amazing carnival that comes every year. I heard they were setting up this morning, and they're here for a week. It's really fun, you should check it out if you can."

"Really?" Aziraphale sat up. "What do they have at the carnival?"

_"Everything._ Rides, games, street performers, fireworks, live music, and more food than you can eat."

"More food than we can eat?" Aziraphale's stomach was rumbling already. "What kind of food? Oh, do they have those funnel cakes and candy floss like at the circus?"

She nodded emphatically. "The best funnel cakes and candy floss you've ever had, and a whole lot more besides."

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, putting on what the latter called his "puppy eyes." He stuck out his bottom lip. "Please, dear? It sounds like a grand time."

Crowley rolled his eyes but smiled. "Yes, fine, we can go to the carnival."

"Really?" Aziraphale could practically smell those funnel cakes.

"Yeah, we'll head out tomorrow after we've had lunch and a good night's sleep."

Again Aziraphale had to resist the urge to pull him close and kiss him. "Thank you, Crowley. I can't wait."


	5. Night at the Carnival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left comments! I treasure them all <3

Bouncy music and neon lights welcomed them even from a fair distance away. High above the trees was an enormous Ferris wheel with colorful cars arranged like a rainbow. The lights on their sides lit up the woods alongside the Hollywood-style searchlights that moved back and forth across the starry sky. Next to it was a set of swings attached to a towering pole, twirling its riders around. A red and white circus tent came into view next, surrounded by crowds of people waiting in line, leaving with tired toddlers, and couples walking hand in hand.

"Safe to say we found it," Crowley said. He smirked at the goofy clown figure placed at the side of the road. Its finger pointed to the left and read, _Fun this way!_ He followed it and groaned. Safe to say a lot of other people had found it too. The parking lot was packed.

"Not to worry, my dear," Aziraphale said. "I'm sure I can miracle us a free space if it comes to that."

"It's not finding a space that's the problem, it's all these _people,"_ Crowley snapped. Families and small children were everywhere, taking their sweet time. In ninety years, he couldn't remember having to drive this slow. One of the kids tripped and wailed, causing the rest of the family to kneel down to help. There was no way around them. Crowley blasted the horn.

"Come on, clear out!" he yelled.

"Easy now," Aziraphale said, patting his leg. "I've got this." He snapped his fingers, and the child stopped wailing, proclaiming that the knee was much better now. The family moved on, and he pointed to an adjacent lot. "Head over there."

"You mean the one that says 'Staff Parking Only?'"

"Yes. Any staff member or security guard who comes by tonight will remember seeing a car just like yours every day at work."

Crowley smiled. "You're a handy passenger sometimes." He easily maneuvered the Bentley into the staff parking lot, which was still crowded but had a few free spaces left. Once they'd parked, turned the lights off, and locked up, they strode in the same direction as the humans. Quite a few of them were holding hands.

He looked at Aziraphale and smiled through an ache in his chest. His eyes were sparkling with excitement and his face was beautifully bright in the colorful lights. Crowley wondered what Aziraphale would do if he reached for his hand. He didn't dare find out. He quickly pushed his sunglasses up and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Gosh," Aziraphale said when they reached the entrance. "Just look at how enormous this place is!"

That was an understatement. The carnival stretched on for miles, strings of lights illuminating the crowded paths and music playing all the way. Crowley could hear screams of delight and terror followed by the roars of rollercoasters, the _screeeech_ of bumper cars, the cheers and _ding ding ding!_ of games. Vendors walked around shouting, "Popcorn! Hot dog! Funnel cakes! Candy floss!"

Crowley and Aziraphale shared a grin. It was going to be a fun night.

"If only the queue weren't so long," Aziraphale said. Indeed, the queue for tickets was wrapped around the entrance.

"Noooo, Mumma! I don't waaaannna go hooooome!" A red-faced toddler was being dragged toward the parking lot by a very tired-looking mother.

The woman scooped her up. "Janie, it is past your bedtime, you've had too much sugar, and we've been here long enough."

"NOOOOOO!" Tears streamed down Janie's face as she wailed loudly enough to make a few people jump.

Crowley turned to Aziraphale, feeling mischievous. He said in a whisper, "You know, this could just be a guess on my part, but I'm thinking those two probably won't be needing their tickets."

Aziraphale wiggled his eyebrows. "You know, I think you're right. It would be quite convenient if their tickets just… _happened_ to appear inside our pockets."

"Hmm." Crowley dipped his fingers further into his pockets and feigned surprise. "Well, would you look at that!" He pulled out a ticket, already stamped by a staff worker. "I wonder how this got in there."

"Why, yes, I've got one too!" Aziraphale said, holding up his own ticket. Giggling, they slipped out of the queue and into the carnival, where they stood for a moment in awe of the miles of merriment.

"So," Crowley said. "What do you want to do first?"

"Oh, gosh, I don't know. The swings and the Ferris wheel look delightful, and I can smell the funnel cakes from here. And I know I don't want to miss a moment of _that_ ," he said, pointing to a sign in the corner. It read, _Spectacular Fireworks Show at 11pm. Gather 'round and watch as we close out the carnival by lighting up the nighttime sky!_

"Yeah, me neither," Crowley said. He glanced around for the shortest queue. "How 'bout the bumper cars?"

Aziraphale laughed. "Of course you would choose the attraction with cars." He followed Crowley to the attraction. Humans were driving colorful cars every which way and crashing into each other, squealing and shouting.

As they joined the queue, Crowley thought of a fun way to tease him. "You know you'll have to actually _drive_ the car yourself, right? They only fit one person."

Aziraphale frowned. "I know. What makes you think I can't do that?"

Crowley smirked. "Remember the go-karting incident?"

"That was one time! It's hardly my fault the gas and brake pedal looked so similar."

"Yeah, you wouldn't have thought go-karts could cause so many hospitalizations—"

"It was an _accident!_ And nobody went to hospital. I healed them all, if you'll recall correctly."

"Yeah, right after you'd broken their bones and set the track on fire." Aziraphale looked away and Crowley patted his arm, softening his voice. "But I'm sure this time you'll do much better."

"Hmph," Aziraphale said. Lord, even his pout was cute.

The round in front of them ended. Once the riders left, the queue moved quickly. Crowley and Aziraphale were soon in a red and blue car, respectively. Even in a much smaller toy version, Crowley felt right at home inside a car. His feet found the pedals and the steering wheel fit nicely in his hands. With his driving skills and maybe just a little demonic magic, this baby would go wherever he willed it.

He glanced back at Aziraphale and snickered to see the angel was far less confident. He was staring uneasily at his feet as if he'd seen something unpleasant down there, and he was clutching the wheel so hard he looked like he might break it. Crowley could see his mouth moving and, though he was too far away to hear him, he knew his friend was mumbling all manner of false reassurances to himself.

_You couldn't ask for a better target._ Tapping the wheel, he waited for the attraction's traffic light to turn green. The second it did, he was off.

"Whoa, that guy's good!" a kid from behind yelled as Crowley expertly weaved around and through other drivers. He avoided every attempt to hit him and muttered a few curses upon those who tried it. Those poor fools were going to be in for some very bad luck tonight indeed. Still, he wasn't worried about them. There was only one person in this whole place who was worthy of his attention, and he had barely moved for struggling with the controls.

Crowley floored it and crashed into Aziraphale's left, returning the glare with a cheeky grin. "Ha! Catch me if you can, Angel!"

"You—you—!" But Crowley did not find out exactly what he was, as it took about ten seconds to leave Aziraphale far behind. He swerved around and around the little track, sending anyone who dared to get in his way far off to the side. After his sixth loop, he looked for Aziraphale again. Apparently the other riders had figured out that he was practically a sitting duck. He was suffering a barrage on all sides from laughing riders and was nervously pleading with them.

"Hey now. Only I get to bump Aziraphale's bumper car," Crowley said, and pressed his iron foot to the gas once more. He crashed right into the biggest of the group, pushing him far back into the wall and giving Aziraphale just enough room to escape.

Or rather, he would have escaped if he weren't so utterly _hopeless_ with any vehicle whatsoever. The damn idiot somehow managed to put the car in reverse and only get himself further into the jam. The drivers pointed and laughed.

Crowley sighed. "Guess we're gonna have to do this the hard way." Not that this was a problem. When it came to driving, there was nothing like a good challenge. He could already feel the yellow of his eyes overtaking the whites. He was compelled to hiss at the other drivers as he drove back and forth, side to side, doing full rotations as he cleared a path for Aziraphale. Finally, the moron remembered what a gas pedal was and used it to drive out of the crowd that attacked him…and straight into a wall.

He tried to steer to the right and drove straight into the wall. Then he tried to steer to the left and drove straight into another wall. He achieved similar results going straight again, and so on. When the timer buzzed and the riders began to disembark to let the next group have a go, Crowley was red-faced from laughing so hard. Aziraphale was both dizzy and, as he would put it, "most cantankerous."

"It isn't fair!" he said, stalking away from the attraction. "They rig those cars and make them difficult to drive on purpose!"

"Angel, those cars were being driven by five-year-olds. Somehow I don't think they were the problem."

That cute little pout was back, though it was tainted by the melancholy gloom Aziraphale had in his eyes whenever he was bad at something. Crowley knew just how to cheer him up.

"Well, I've worked up an appetite. What do you say we try some of those funnel cakes and candy floss I've heard so much about?"

Right on cue, Aziraphale lit up like the neon lights. "Oh yes, let's do! I haven't had occasion to try them in so long." He led the way to the food booths and stalls, which were full of more than anyone could eat (though Crowley had no doubt Aziraphale would try). There were corn dogs and candy apples, pizza, nachos, lemonade, pretzels, ice cream, hot dogs, cheeseburgers, French fries, taffy, snow cones, popcorn, and even fried Oreos. The smells blended together so powerfully it would have been sickening if it hadn't all been delicious. Aziraphale was watching with hungry eyes, licking his lips.

"I've had candy floss before, but I've never eaten a funnel cake," Crowley said. "Think I should try one?"

"Absolutely!" Aziraphale grinned, and _God,_ his _eyes_. They practically sparkled whenever he talked about his favorite foods, especially when he was given the opportunity to share them. That was what was so neat about him; he got crazy excited over the smallest of things. Crowley remembered many a day where, after struggling to impress Hastur and Ligur (both stubbornly determined to never be impressed by anything), he would marvel at how Aziraphale could take so much delight and pleasure over something anyone else would consider mundane.

"…and a candy floss and lemonade, and finally, a funnel cake for my friend here." Crowley blinked. He hadn't realized they were at the front of the line. "What else do you want, Crowley?"

"Hmm? Oh, um, a lemonade for me too, I guess." It wasn't wine, but it would do.

Once they had their food, they took it over to a picnic bench. One of the street performers was doing a magic act nearby. "Don't get any ideas," Crowley warned Aziraphale, who stuck his tongue out in response.

The lemonade was sweet and tangy, and Crowley emphasized how soft and tasty the funnel cake was just to see those eyes light up again. He didn't care much about the food though. Watching the magician pull obvious slight-of-hand tricks was more fun.

"As if we don't all _know_ he slipped it in his pocket," Crowley said, rolling his eyes.

"Must you spoil the fun?" Aziraphale asked with his mouth full. "It's really quite clever!" He clapped along with the audience in between shoving bites of food into his mouth.

"Seems to me he could use a little _proper_ magic," Crowley hinted, winking.

Aziraphale froze. "Crowley."

"Not too much. Just a little—"

_"Crowley. No."_

Crowley sighed. "And you say _I'm_ no fun."

"I'll not have you spoiling the act of a hardworking performer!"

"More like _improving_ the act."

"No!"

"Fine, fine. Damn buzzkill."

Aziraphale humphed in disapproval but turned back to the magician, who soon finished his act and took a bow, holding out his hat for tips. Crowley rolled his eyes as people who had more money than sense (or taste) filled it to the brim.

When everyone had dispersed, Crowley said, "Come on, Angel. Let's do something fun. Like a rollercoaster."

"On a full stomach? You must be mad!" Aziraphale said, cradling his now-empty food and drink containers to his chest. He had practically inhaled both of them.

"All right, some games then. I bet I could win some of them even without divine intervention."

"Oh?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "Think I may just have to take you up on that bet."

"Then let's make it interesting," Crowley said, an idea coming to him. He grinned wickedly and leaned close. "How about this? If I win a game without _any_ miracles at all—on my behalf or yours—you have to go on any rollercoaster I want."

Aziraphale paled. "Not the Wicked Twist of Fate?"

_"Especially_ the Wicked Twist of Fate." Crowley pointed to the carnival's headliner attraction in the distance, which could be seen from miles away. Every few seconds, it was filled with screams and shrieks of passengers both excited and terrified who hung on for dear life. The ride dropped them down ninety-degree angles, took them back up again just as steeply, turned them upside down in loop after loop, turned them sideways on sharp shifts to the right, then left, then right again, all at over a hundred and twenty miles an hour. The track resembled a child's scribbly drawing. It even had a cliff-like edge that sent passengers flying and then crash-landing onto the next part of the track.

"Crowley, that is not a ride. That is a death trap."

"Don't you mean discorporation?"

"You know _bloody well_ what I mean." Aziraphale glared. "Crowley, I am going to say this one time and one time only. There is no force, not of Earth, nor of Heaven, and certainly not of Hell, that could get me on that nightmare of a machine."

* * *

"So, you ready to ride that nightmare of a machine?" Crowley asked cheekily as they walked down the midway. The path was beaming with flashing lights and signs of "Winner!" and "Game Over" illuminating to the cheers and groans of players. Some were carrying prizes, mostly cheap dime store novelty items like stuffed animals and action figures.

"Please," Aziraphale scoffed. "You've lost the ring toss, the beanbag toss, the bottle toss, the balloon pop, the bowling game, the golf game, the basketball hoops, spin the wheel, bobbing for apples, and even tic tac toe. And you will lose this one too."

Crowley eyed him suspiciously. "You sound awfully sure. Almost as if you were doing something make it so."

"No, no, a promise is a promise. No miracles from either of us. Just you and your skills. Which, as I just said, are severely lacking. You're lucky you can conjure up endless amounts of money, otherwise you'd have gone broke long ago."

"Nah, I just haven't found the right game yet," Crowley said. "I'll know it when I see it." He scanned the midway, trying to find something he hadn't played already. Surely if he played enough games enough times, he had to win _eventually_. And dozens of failures would be worth it if it meant Aziraphale would go on the Wicked Twist of Fate with him. Rollercoasters were too lonely when you did them by yourself.

_Dunk tank, strong arm...come on, there's got to be something—_ "Oh hey, let's try that!" He hurried to a booth at the end of the midway, Aziraphale huffing and puffing after him.

"Step right up and try some good ole' fashioned target practice for your chance to win one of these here prizes!" a lady behind a bulletproof counter was saying. "Anyone who's man enough to try shootin' the targets need only pay two pounds per round of ammo."

"That's me, I'm your man." Crowley handed her the money and examined the old-fashioned rifles. They had been secured to the table with their safety functions locked and only limited aiming movement possible. He hadn't used a gun in a long time, but before things like mobile phones and motorways, they had been a regular tool of the trade for his lot. He had known them inside and out, and these were just the kind of models that he remembered most. If there was any carnival game he could win on skill and skill alone, this was it.

"A _shooting_ game? Really?" Aziraphale looked uneasy. "Leave it to you to pick the game with violence."

"Would you like to join him?" the woman asked, gesturing to the other rifle. "You can compete, and whoever does better gets the prize."

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly." Aziraphale held up his hands, flustered and probably scandalized at the very idea. _Goody-two-shoes._

"They're target signs, not living creatures," Crowley said without looking up. He locked eyes on the centers of the moving targets. Took one of the rifles into his hands. The woman unlocked the safety.

"Ready for me to start the timer?"

"Born ready," Crowley said. The second the buzzer sounded, he opened fire. Over and over, his finger squeezed the trigger with lightning speed, stopping only to realign his aim when the targets moved out of his reach. _Bangbangbangbangbangbangbang_.

Those poor targets didn't know what hit them.

"Blimey, that's the most impressive shootin' I've seen all night! Look at all those bullseyes." She reset the game and put the safety back on the guns. She shook Crowley's hand, oblivious to Aziraphale's fearful grimace. "Just for that, I'll let you have your pick of _two_ prizes." She pointed to the wall of items on display. "Pick anything from there, and it's yours."

Crowley studied his options. There weren't many. Most of it was little kid stuff. He did see a blanket that looked appealing though. It was folded up all nice and looked extra soft. Might be good for a nap on the couch or in the backseat of the Bentley. At least it was something practical, and with a solid blue color, it looked much more adult than the rest.

"Oh, what have I gotten myself into?" Aziraphale whimpered. "I should have known you wouldn't make that bet unless you had concocted up some scheme to win it. Oh dear…"

Crowley would have been tempted to call him a sore loser, except that Aziraphale really did look petrified. He was gripping his hands together tightly and pacing like he was always did when he was starting to panic. Maybe it _had_ been a little unfair to coerce him into something he was that scared of.

Crowley turned back to the prizes. "I'll take that blanket over there." He pointed to it. "And that rabbit on the other side."

Aziraphale stopped pacing long enough to look puzzled. "Why the rabbit?" he asked. There were quite a few childlike toys, but the rabbit was by far the cutest, cuddliest, and softest of them all.

Thanking the woman and looking away, Crowley slowly handed it to Aziraphale. He tucked his newly won blanket under his arm. "Just, er, thought you might like to have something. And I figured, well, your own little Harry the Rabbit."

"Oh, Crowley." He risked a look and his stomach flipped when he saw Aziraphale's eyes. That smile was back. "That's awfully kind, Crowley. Thank you. I shall treasure it always." He hugged it to his chest.

"Um. Yeah. Sure." He shoved his hands into his pockets, wishing he'd thought to bring his shades. Lately he'd gotten a little too used to not wearing them. "So, um, shall we?" he said, putting his smirk back on his face.

Aziraphale clutched little Harry. "Oh, I—well, if we must." He followed Crowley back to the rollercoasters, dragging his feet all the way and looking paler with every step.

As the Wicked Twist of Fate came into view, the screams grew louder and they could see people getting off. Many were swaying dizzily and some were bending over or stepping aside to throw up on the grass.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said quietly. Crowley turned around. Those anxious hands were twisting poor Harry's ears into knots. "I know I promised, but I don't think I can do this. Please."

Damn. Even a demon wasn't so heartless as to use force on a face like that. Crowley opened his mouth to say that was okay, they could do something else. Then something huge knocked into both of them and sent Harry (who it seemed could not catch a break tonight) out of Aziraphale's arms and right into a puddle of mud. The bunny's white coat was almost as dirty as Aziraphale's, who was nearly in tears over how filthy his beloved Victorian clothes had gotten.

"Hey!" Crowley shouted, pushing to his feet. The knees of his jeans were stained with grass and his blanket had come unrolled on the ground. "Watch where you're going, arsehole!"

"You watch it!" the man shouted back, flipping Crowley the bird. He was sweaty and carried a nearly empty beer bottle. Dude could not have been more obviously drunk. He was also one of the biggest and buffest men Crowley had ever seen. "I gotta ride tuh get to!"

"Do you have any idea how rare these clothes are?" Aziraphale yelled, clearly hurt.

The man laughed. "Aww, did the fat-arse get his feewings hurt? Did he wose his widdle bunny wabbit? Big fuckin' baby!" He pointed to Harry, and his friends, who had just stumbled over to join him, doubled over laughing.

"I'll fix them," Crowley said. It was just a matter of deciding what shape to take. A hellish monster like in Tadfield? A vicious carnivore like a bear or lion? A giant insect with the sharpest stinger imaginable? They were all sounding like suitable options at the moment.

"Crowley, no," Aziraphale said gently, touching his arm and tugging at it. "Let's just get away from them and clean ourselves up."

"Seriously? You want to let them get away with that shit?" They were still laughing, mimicking baby cries and pointing to Aziraphale.

"I simply don't believe we should grant them the pleasure of spoiling our evening. Now come on." He tugged again until finally Crowley let himself be led away once they'd gathered up Harry and the blanket. Once they were behind a tent and out of sight, they miracled each other clean.

"Good to see you looking like a white rabbit again," Aziraphale said, stroking Harry's furry head. Crowley found himself flattered by how much he seemed to like the little thing. He had thought Aziraphale would be mildly amused by a stuffed rabbit, but he seemed to really treasure it. "Now, then. Let's head back so we can get on that ride."

"Hmm?" Crowley's head shot up. "Sorry, what?"

"We're going on that ride." Aziraphale's eyes hardened into steel. "Both of us."

"But you said—"

"I know what I said. But I'll be damned if I'm anything resembling a baby or some, some, _doddering old fool!_ " Crowley wrinkled his nose. Where had that come from? "And besides," he nodded at Crowley. "I'm an angel of my word."

Crowley was stunned. You would think, after six thousand years in his company, it would be impossible for Aziraphale to surprise Crowley anymore. Yet somehow, he managed it. Just one of many reasons he was endlessly interesting.

"You sure about this?"

"Absolutely." Crowley could hardly believe it, but Aziraphale marched right up to the queue.

"You're really serious," Crowley marveled. He supposed even an angel must have some pride. Aziraphale stood like a soldier going into battle, shoulders stiff and face straight ahead. The wanker who had insulted them was a few places in front of them, and every time he spoke (which was often, it seemed he could neither shut up nor speak without shouting), Aziraphale twitched and stood a little taller.

"Don't worry," Crowley whispered to him as the queue moved toward the gate. "I'll fix him."

As the next group of riders boarded the Wicked Twist of Fate, the man pushed even more people out of the way and jumped into the last car. The staff nearly kicked him out when he made a fuss about putting on his seatbelt.

"Don' need no bloody seatbelt!" he slurred. "I ken held on jus' fine!"

The staff won that argument, of course, and Crowley focused on the ride, his fingers poised and at the ready. A staff member pulled the lever, and off the cars went. Up, up, up, down, down, down, sharp turn left, sharp turn right, and away they headed toward the biggest and steepest loop of them all.

_Steady. Gotta get it just right._ Crowley knew what to do, but it wouldn't be fair to punish the other riders who got stuck with this arsehole. He had to make sure he acted at exactly the right second so that wouldn't happen.

They were coming to the loop. Up, up, up, and here was the curve, almost there, and… _NOW!_

Crowley snapped his fingers and the cars froze. The other riders were right side up and leaning forward, but Mister Arsehole Himself was stuck completely upside down, red-faced and screaming, beating his fists in the air.

"Help! Help me! Gemme outta here!"

"Ha ha!" Crowley laughed as a gasp went up through the crowd. The poor staff members looked very nervous and began to say code numbers into their walkie-talkies.

"Crowley," Aziraphale turned to him. "This wouldn't be your doing, would it?"

"Ah, look! He's throwing up!" Crowley pointed. Every beer the man had chugged that night was leaving him as he hacked it out, where it fell a long way and landed near the grass at the bottom of the tracks. He was still waving his arms, wailing for help.

"Serves him right, obnoxious bastard," Crowley said.

"That may be, but there's still no excuse for an evil deed," Aziraphale chastised him. "Don't you realize that if this keeps up, they're going to shut down the ride? All these poor people who have been waiting won't get a chance to go on, including us!"

Well, shit. He had a point there. "Still, you got to admit, it was worth it just for the few seconds of seeing him scream," Crowley reminded him. He snapped his fingers and the ride began to move again, eliciting a cheer from the queue and puzzled looks from the staff members. They shrugged and put their walkie-talkies back in their pockets. When the ride was over, Crowley—and Aziraphale too, though he wouldn't admit it—were both very pleased to see the man whimpering and stumbling as he made his way out of the attraction.

"Aw, is the widdle baby afwaid of the big bad wollercoaster?" Crowley taunted, snickering and pretending to wipe his eyes. The man gave him a pained look and hurried off. "Yeah, that's right, good riddance!"

A hand grabbed his sleeve and he turned around. Aziraphale's army stance had disappeared, and he was clutching Harry the Rabbit again. "Crowley, are you sure this thing is safe?" he asked, eyes locked onto it.

"Of course," he said softly. He had another idea. "And listen. Once this is over, I'm happy to do whatever you want for the rest of the night."

Aziraphale brightened right away. "Really? Anything?"

"Oh, yeah. Between the bumper cars and the shooting game and now this, we've done everything I wanted to do already." They began to board the cars. To keep Aziraphale calm, he asked, "What do you think you'd like to do?"

That got a smile out of him. "Well, there are a few things I'd consider. I'd love to ride the Ferris wheel and see the fireworks. Oh, and while we were on the midway, I saw a cake walk with the most _scrumptious_ looking cakes available to win. Could we do that, Crowley?" he asked, eyes shining.

"We can do all of those things and more," Crowley assured him. "Now put Harry in the storage compartment and hold on to the bar." Harry the Rabbit and Crowley's blanket and sunglasses were stowed safely in the zippered storage bag attached to the inside of the car. The safety bar came down over them. "See?" Crowley patted it. "Nice and sturdy. It'll keep us plenty safe."

Aziraphale clung to the bar for dear life. The color began to drain from his face. "Dear merciful God in Heaven, I hope you're right," he said.

"Please keep your hands, legs, and arms safely inside the vehicle at all times, and enjoy the ride!" the staff member told them just before pulling the lever.

They shot off like a rocket.

"Woooo!" Crowley screamed at the top of his lungs, throwing his arms in the air and grinning hard enough to make his cheeks hurt. They twisted and turned and dropped and looped hard enough to make their hearts race, their blood pump, their hair fly, and leave their stomachs behind as the Wicked Twist of Fate roared ahead at full speed. Every time they went up, the starry sky grew closer, and Crowley drank it all in, sorry to leave it every time the ride went back down. Thankfully, it never stayed down for long.

"This is amazing!" he shouted.

"Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall not be afraid!" Aziraphale cried, though the message of his psalm was a bit undercut by how he was clutching the safety bar and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Come on! This is the best time we've ever had!" Crowley leaned in to every turn and breathed in the fresh air coming at them fast and tugging at their hair. He didn't even care that his carefully slicked style was now a mess or that his eyes were full yellow.

They may have ditched Heaven and Hell months ago, but this was the first time Crowley could remember when he really felt free. Away from jobs and responsibilities. No more keeping score or worrying about prying eyes watching them. Just having fun with his best friend and doing whatever they wanted whenever they wanted under a beautiful night sky.

Crowley was sorry when, after four minutes of fun around the craziest tracks either of them had ever seen, the ride slowed and came to an end. "Now _that_ was fun," he said, turning to Aziraphale, who clearly did not agree. He was still clinging to the bar and his face was turning green. His hair had gone every which way and was even more wild-looking than Crowley's.

"Ohhh," he moaned. "I don't feel so good."

Crowley patted him on the shoulder. "There, there, it's all over now. And the rest of the night is all yours, remember?" The safety bar rose and he gathered up the sunglasses, blanket, and bunny. "Here's Harry back." Aziraphale stuffed him into his pocket. "Now let's get out of here."

Aziraphale didn't move very fast, and Crowley noticed him holding his stomach and kneeling in front of a bush at one point with his head bowed. Yet he seemed to perk up as they came back to the center of the carnival. The crowds had thinned by now. Parents took small children home for bedtime. Drunkards either passed out or were carried out by disgruntled staff. Others began to scope out seating for the fireworks show.

"We've got one hour," Crowley said, checking his watch. "That's just enough time for a ride on the Ferris wheel and a trip to the cake walk. You still down?"

Aziraphale smiled. "I am," he said. "It'll be a nice change to go on something gentle and eat food without having it come back up."

* * *

The Ferris wheel was more fun than Crowley had thought. He had always imagined it as a kiddie ride that moved too slowly and played dumb repetitive music. Instead it was, dare he even think it, _romantic_.

Aziraphale had pulled him along into a bright blue car, where they were quickly fastened in by another safety bar (much thinner and not nearly as tight) and taken up into the air, stopping every few feet. Each height on the wheel provided a different view of the carnival. From above, it was like a city of lights, striped tents, and flashes. When they finally made it to the top, the music faded away and it was just the two of them and the stars above.

"Perfect," Aziraphale sighed. He leaned back and rested his hands on the bar, brushing Crowley's. The car was small and they were quite close together. Crowley looked at him, and felt that familiar tingle in his tummy when he saw that twinkle in Aziraphale's eyes. He had been on Earth for six thousand years, and yet he acted as though every time he saw a sunset or a constellation or a city full of lights, he was seeing it for the first time. Coincidentally, Crowley's body seemed to think that every time he saw Aziraphale watching these events, _he_ was watching _him_ for the first time. So strange, how that worked.

"This might be my favorite part of all," Aziraphale said. "It's just you and me up here. No one to bother us or get in our way."

"Mm, yeah." Crowley glanced in the opposite direction, waiting for the pink to fade from his cheeks. Did Aziraphale really like it that much when it was just the two of them? It had never seemed that way to Crowley. He always to want to go out and about to restaurants, shops, theaters, and concert halls. He loved being with people. Crowley had been desperate for time alone with him, but he wasn't about to risk their friendship over it. The angel had always made his moralities and books the priority anyway.

"Oh, it's already over," Aziraphale said as the Ferris wheel turned once more. Their car went slowly down, down, down until it deposited them back at the loading line. The safety bar rose and a staff member beckoned them off to usher in the next group.

"You wanna get in the queue and go again?" Crowley asked. He thought he wouldn't mind doing that a second time.

"No, no, that's enough," Aziraphale said. "It wouldn't be as special the second time. Besides," he said, lighting up. "I still want to try the cake walk. Hurry!" He pulled Crowley through the crowds toward a booth at the end of the carnival. A table was set up with cakes of every color and flavor, all elegantly decorated with border icing. In front of it was a circle of numbers and a radio playing bouncy music.

"Step right up for your chance to win one of these delicious cakes! Any one you want!" a staff member in a red and white striped shirt called. "Delicious cakes, all of 'em free to choose for the winner of the one and only cake walk!"

Aziraphale hurried to the queue. "Oh, I can't wait!" he squealed. Crowley stood off to the side, not interested enough to participate. He liked listening to Aziraphale prattle on to himself about the cakes.

"Which one should I pick? Chocolate, vanilla, buttercream, carrot, red velvet, cheesecake? Oh, it's all so good I don't know how I shall ever choose!"

"You have to _win_ to choose one," Crowley reminded him. "And with the amount of people, it'll be a full field. Only about a one in ten chance."

"Oh dear, you're right," Aziraphale fretted. "What are the odds that I would win? I'll almost certainly lose." He stuck out his bottom lip. "I hope not. Those cakes are simply too good not to enjoy, and they're big enough that we could share too."

"Well, don't give up now. You still have a chance." Crowley turned away and smirked. More than just a chance if he had anything to say about it. Aziraphale might be morally opposed to cheating, but he sure as hell wasn't.

"Yes, that's true." The line moved forward and Aziraphale took his place on the number seven. "Here I go! Wish me luck."

"Good luck." Crowley folded his arms and watched with amusement. The staff member announced the rules, then started the music. Each person moved forward, some more quickly than others, all of them apprehensively watching the radio and waiting for the moment it would stop. Aziraphale bumped into a few people in his hurry, stammering apologies and walking like the old silly he was. They went around and around the circle six times before the music stopped and everyone froze.

"And the lucky number is…" Crowley put his hands behind his back and snapped his fingers. "Number four!"

"That's me! Oh goodness gracious, that's me!" Aziraphale cheered with such childlike delight that Crowley couldn't help but laugh. The other players glared enviously and slunk away as Aziraphale hurried to the table of cakes. He took a good few minutes to fuss and exclaim over them, but finally walked away with a yellow cake covered in chocolate frosting and a lovely message written in blue script icing: "Congratulations, Winner!"

"Can you believe it?" he asked Crowley. "I actually won! Who would have thought I'd be so lucky?"

Crowley shrugged. "Dunno. Guess sometimes it just works out that way."

Aziraphale sniffed. "Ah, it smells wonderful. We must find someplace to sit and have a slice or two while it's still fresh."

"Yeah, and it's about time for the fireworks anyway," Crowley said. "Here, let's head back toward the entrance. Won't be as many buildings in our way."

They made their way through the carnival, arms full of cake, a blanket, and a bunny as souvenirs of a fun-filled night. It took them quite a while to find a clear spot with enough space since everyone else wanted to watch the fireworks too, but they managed it.

"Who knew this thing would come in handy so fast?" Crowley marveled, unfolding the blanket he'd won and spreading it on the ground. He and Aziraphale got comfortable on it, with the cake in front of them. Since they had no utensils, they took turns swiping gobs of frosting from the top and licking it off their fingers. Once they reached for the same part, and their fingers brushed. Crowley stilled. Aziraphale laughed nervously and stammered an apology.

"You don't have to apologize," Crowley told him. Aziraphale nodded. They sat in a comfortable silence as the show began to start. The fireworks started out small at first, a shrill whistle followed by a small _pop!_ Then came the _cracks!_ and bursts of color exploded, then trailed slowly down the sky. Gold bursts, blue, red, green, pink; picking up speed until there were no breaks in between. People oohed and ahhed. Crowley lay back on the blanket, arms behind his head.

The fireworks were only half the beauty; the other was the nighttime sky. As long as he lived, Crowley would never tire of looking at it. He loved the little lights in the darkness, bright enough to be beautiful but not so bright that they were blinding.

_Like someone else I know._ He turned his gaze to Aziraphale. When the angel's eyes were as happy as they were now, Crowley thought they looked just like the stars.

"Lovely," Aziraphale exclaimed. He lay back beside Crowley, who tried to act as though that didn't make his heart beat faster. "This whole day has been wonderful. I'm very grateful we decided to take this trip."

"Me too," Crowley said. "I've been feeling a lot better since we left." That smile put both the fireworks and the stars to shame. It was all Crowley could do not to kiss it.

Instead, he scooted just a little bit closer, letting their heads rest close to each other on the blanket. Their fingers brushed again, this time without apology. They relaxed under gorgeous flashes of fireworks, feeling more at peace than they had in a long time.


	6. The Camping Caper

They stayed like that until all of the crowds had dispersed and the carnival was closing down. Aziraphale yawned and pushed himself off the blanket to sit up and stretch. He couldn't remember the last time he'd so thoroughly enjoyed an evening and was sorry it was over. Poor Crowley seemed to be wiped out. He had fallen asleep in the middle of the fireworks and somehow slept through the grand finale, which had exploded no less than four thousand pounds worth of firecrackers. Aziraphale smiled down at him. He had half a mind to scoop him up into his arms and carry him to bed like a small child.

Instead he packed up their belongings, polished off the rest of the cake, and gently shook Crowley awake. "Come on, love," he said, and almost covered his mouth. Love? Where had that come from? He'd never called him that before. The word had just slipped through without him thinking about it.

"We have to leave now. The carnival's closing," he quickly added, hoping Crowley wouldn't ask about the pet name. "You've got to drive us someplace where we can stay tonight."

"Ngh," Crowley mumbled before stretching his arms. Aziraphale offered a hand and pulled him to his feet.

"I don't suppose you can find out if there are any hotels nearby?"

"Good luck with that!" a worker shouted from a few yards over. "The hotels around here are all booked. Only one with any vacancy is fifty miles away."

Aziraphale and Crowley groaned. "Well, I suppose it serves us right for not making arrangements ahead of time," Aziraphale lamented. "Perhaps we'll simply have to sleep in the Bentley tonight."

"We can't, there's not enough room," Crowley said quickly. Aziraphale started to say that they could take out their luggage for the night, but he had a feeling Crowley just didn't want them sleeping in his oh-so-precious car. "Come on, let's walk back while I look. There must be _something_."

Aziraphale carried their stuff and followed behind Crowley as he tapped away on his phone. Judging by the sighs and growls, the results weren't showing much. After everything was safely stowed in the boot, Crowley leaned against it, looking glum.

"Nothing. The only building within thirty miles that's still open is a 24-hour department store around the corner."

"Oh, that could work!" Aziraphale brightened. "We could buy some camping equipment there and sleep outside tonight. There's plenty of forest around."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Sorry?"

"Come now, Crowley, you love the night sky. Just think how peaceful and romantic it will be under the stars." He blushed. Had he really just said _romantic_? He needed to get a hold of himself. "And besides, it's not as if we have many other options."

Crowley considered it and shrugged. "Guess we're already on our next adventure."

"Exactly!" Aziraphale smiled and climbed into the passenger seat. "Let's get our gear and head on to the forest."

* * *

An hour later, the Bentley was even more jam-packed with a tent, two sleeping bags, two pillows, and food that could be eaten without cooking. Aziraphale liked the coziness of it, though he felt bad for Crowley, who kept patting the dashboard of his car and whispering apologies to it. Fortunately, they didn't have to drive long before finding campgrounds where they could park.

Aziraphale hoisted a backpack of supplies onto his shoulders and turned to the forest, quickly feeling uneasy. He had imagined it as a beautiful, almost magical place like he'd read about in fairy stories. These woods just looked dark and dim.

"I'll, um, let you guide us, Crowley," he said, nodding to the entrance. There was a path, but no light on it. "Given that you can see in the dark and all."

"All right." Crowley locked the car, put the keys in his pocket, and led them both into the forest. The trees were taller than anything back home. Every rustle made Aziraphale antsy. At one point, a twig snapped, and he jumped back, yelping.

"Would you relax?" Crowley asked with disgust. "You and I are more powerful than anything living in this place. And I'm certainly scarier."

Aziraphale breathed in deeply. "Yes, yes, you're right," he said. "Probably nothing but cute little squirrels and bunnies," he told himself. Speaking of bunnies, he wished he'd thought to bring Harry with him so he could have something to hold onto. "Maybe a chipmunk. Who knows?"

"Looks like there's a clearing up ahead," Crowley announced. Aziraphale squinted. He couldn't see anything but the outlines of trees, but a demon would know better in a dark place like this. He simply followed Crowley, grabbing onto his arm at one point so he wouldn't lose him.

_It might be nice if we could hold hands,_ he thought. _Or at least link arms._ But Crowley would never go for something like that. Far too cheesy.

"Here we are." Crowley led them through a cluster of trees, and sure enough, there was a small clearing big enough for a tent. "Guess this'll be our quarters for the night."

Aziraphale was relieved to set down their pack. He took a look around and immediately felt homesick for his bookshop. This was the time of night when he would be settling into his favorite chair with a glass of wine, a good book, and a record of Mozart. He would be in peace and comfort. Instead he was out in the unforgiving wilderness.

The stars were completely concealed by trees, the ground was wet and muddy, the air was so humid he could feel his clothes sticking to his skin, and mosquitos were eating him alive. Now that his hands were free, the first thing he did was miracle them all away.

"Now then." Crowley cleared his throat. "Shall we pitch the tent?"

"Oh. Yes, of course. Let there be light!" He miracled up a small shine—thankfully no humans were around to ask questions—and helped Crowley drag the box out of the pack and get it open. Once they'd gotten every piece out and onto the ground, Aziraphale moved them under the light while Crowley read the directions.

"First, put Pole A into the ground."

"Easy enough," Aziraphale said, planting it firmly into the soil.

"All right. Next, plant Pole B and then bend the poles toward each other for connection."

"Ah, yes. Right. In a jiffy." Aziraphale took one pole in each hand and tried to bend them toward each other, but they were surprisingly stubborn. He pushed hard until his hands gave out, and the poles sprung backward, whacking him in the face and sending him into the dirt. He could feel grains all over his hair and hoped he hadn't just fallen into an ant bed.

Sighing, he sat back up and brushed himself off. "Let me try that again." He blew on his red, smarting hands to cool them off and braced himself. "Just—have to—bend them—a little—more—agh!" His fingers slipped and the poles whacked him again, nearly right in the eyes.

"Here, let me do it." Crowley dropped the instructions into his lap. "You _really_ need to start exercising, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale huffed. "Well, if you're so big and strong, then you put it together!" Honestly. He was the angel of the eastern gate, after all! Sealing the Garden _did_ take some muscle and legwork, thank you very much.

"All right, let me show you how it's done. Here's Pole A. Pole B is over there. And now I just put them together like so." He pressed down on the poles to make them bend toward each other, but much to Aziraphale's satisfaction, he had the same problem. They were either too strong or too cheaply made to go where the instructions said they were supposed to. Crowley bared his teeth and let out an irritated hiss as he pressed harder and harder.

"Not so easy, is it?" Aziraphale asked with no shortage of smugness.

"Shut up! I've got it. I just—need to—go—like—ahh!" Crowley was soon flat on his back with two bruises on his face just like Aziraphale's. Snarling, he got to his feet and kicked their mess of a tent. "Damn this thing! What kind of shit did they sell us?"

"Well, let's not get too discouraged. After all, we still have the sleeping bags and pillows. Those don't need any assembly." He retrieved them and rolled them out in the clearest patch of grass he could find, fluffing the pillows.

Crowley sputtered. "Guess this is what the humans mean by roughing it," he said, coming over to his sleeping bag. "It's so hot out here I may just leave it unzipped." He took off his jacket and scarf, and Aziraphale quickly turned away so Crowley wouldn't notice his face. He pretended to be busy with his own clothing and sleeping bag, unzipping it and removing his coat and vest. As soon as they were settled in, he snapped his fingers and the light disappeared, leaving them completely in the dark with only the hooting owls for company.

"Good night, Crowley," Aziraphale said, though he knew he wouldn't sleep a wink on this hard ground.

"G'night, 'Ziraphale." Crowley already sounded sleepy. Aziraphale turned to look at him. He had stripped down to shirt and jeans, and had indeed left his sleeping bag unzipped. Aziraphale turned on his side to watch him.

Crowley had a perfect body, and Aziraphale envied him for being able to keep it so. He had gorgeously sculpted legs that turned heads and demanded peoples' attention when he walked. Every article of clothing fit him to a T, from the tight jeans that hugged his hips to the waistcoat that let everyone know Crowley had a smooth chest and a flat stomach. Everything coordinated masterfully, always in season and up to date.

Not like Aziraphale.

He looked down at his own body and sighed as he ran a hand over his fat, bloated, ugly stomach full of food he couldn't stop eating. Oh, who was he kidding? All of him was fat, bloated, and ugly. His cheeks, his hands, his chest. His body carried so much flab that he nearly had breasts—in a _cis_ _male_ body! The terrible sin of gluttony was written all over him. Anyone who so much as glanced in his direction knew what a fat pig he was. They probably looked at him and Crowley and wondered what the old codger with a beer belly was doing with a magazine-worthy movie star.

_He could do so much better._ Aziraphale wiped his eyes at the thought. With looks like that and a heart as kind and caring as his, Crowley could have anyone he wanted, and probably had. Sure, Aziraphale had enjoyed a few "flings," as he called them, mostly at that Portland gentlemen's club, but that was ages ago. He knew that for every one person he had been with, Crowley had probably been with a hundred. What would he want with someone who had so little experience? Especially when that someone was so disgustingly fat he'd probably break the bed.

_Lose the gut._ Aziraphale shut his eyes tight as he felt those cold fists against him, followed by the even colder laugh. He hadn't listened, of course, but now he wished he had. Maybe Crowley would be willing to overlook the lack of experience if he only had a partner who was actually nice to look at.

Aziraphale shut his eyes, trying to picture his ideal body. Maybe he could miracle it so. He'd have a flat stomach, skinny arms, maybe some muscles…

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, there was a crash beside him, the forest was bright with sunrise, and he was sitting up fast. Aziraphale turned his head. What he saw made him drop his jaw.

Four raccoons had opened their tin of food and were eating every last bite.

"You thieves!" he cried, scrambling after them. They hurried away with their stores. "You—you—scoundrels! How could you do that?" he wailed, looking mournfully at the now empty tin. All that remained were crumbs and pawprints, now scampering off into the forest with their stolen treasures. Biscuits, crackers, fruit, sandwiches, all of it was gone.

"What happened?" Crowley asked sleepily from his sleeping bag.

"Those rotten raccoons stole our breakfast!" Aziraphale whined, pointing at their vanishing tails.

"All of it?" Crowley winced.

"Every last bite." Aziraphale sank to his knees. He thought he might cry. His stomach rumbled and he rubbed it sadly.

"Well," Crowley said, clearly trying hard to sound optimistic. "Maybe there's more food in the forest. Like berries or something. We could always walk around and look."

Aziraphale sighed. "I suppose we must do," he said. He was beginning to regret ever mentioning camping. At this rate, they would have been better off driving the fifty miles.

Yet they packed up their gear and set off anyway, with Crowley taking the lead early on. Aziraphale watched his own stomach dejectedly as it seemed to sway from side to side, the extra weight around his middle preventing him from moving terribly fast (and the fact that he was a sedentary creature certainly didn't help). At least it was covered. He remembered how shocked Crowley had been when he'd opted to undress in the room at the spa and cringed. The idea of seeing Aziraphale must have seemed repulsive. No wonder he'd suggested not getting naked.

"Agh!" Aziraphale jerked his head up out of his thoughts to see Crowley swatting at the air around him. "These blasted bugs! I hate them."

Aziraphale closed the distance between them and soon began to feel itchy all over. He shooed away a mosquito from his arm only for it to land on the other one. Gnats swirled all around his face.

"Remind me again which one of our sides is responsible for these pests?" he asked.

"Neither," Crowley said, swatting faster and more angrily. "I think this is just biology and evolution at its worst. Ow! One of the damn things bit me."

Aziraphale sighed. "Let's just go back. This camping trip is turning out to be a bust."

"Yeah, guess we'd better," Crowley agreed. At least he had the decency not to mention that it had been Aziraphale's idea. They trudged back through the direction they'd come until they came to the clearing where they'd spent the night. The midday sun was beaming down through the canopy above them, and birds could be heard everywhere. Everything in the forest was up and about, hunting for food.

Crowley stopped. He surveyed the area, looking to the right, then the left. He put a finger to his chin and narrowed his eyes. His concerned look set off alarm bells in Aziraphale's head.

"Why have we stopped?" he asked. "Aren't you going to take us back to the Bentley?"

"Yeah," Crowley said. "I'm just, er. Trying to remember which way the path was—"

"We're _lost_?" Aziraphale cried. "We can't be lost! Not when we have a nonfunctioning tent and no food."

"All right, all right, no need to panic." Crowley held up a hand. "Just leave it to me. I'll get us out of here in no time." He took a few steps to the right and inspected the area. "Okay, so this was…no. Then maybe it—or it could have been…"

Aziraphale shut his eyes and sank to his knees. "Oh, just admit it. We're lost."

Crowley threw up his hands. "All right, fine. We're lost. Happy now?"

"No! I'm starving and I need a hot bath," Aziraphale grumbled.

Crowley sighed. "Here." He moved his hands, and in seconds, Aziraphale was clean with his bug bites healed. In front of him appeared a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and several bars of chocolate. "If we're going to be stuck camping, we can at least do this part."

Aziraphale smiled. It all looked and smelled awfully good. "Thank you," he said, feeling shy. Crowley could be such a sweetheart when he wanted to be. For the next half hour, they busied themselves lighting a fire to roast the marshmallows and melt the chocolate. Having something to do took their minds off the situation, and both of them were in much better spirits by the time their s'mores were ready. Just as Aziraphale was bringing his to his mouth for a big bite, he heard a rustle. At first, he ignored it, thinking it one of the many squirrels, chipmunks, or other woodland creatures they had seen on their walk, but then he heard a growl.

Crowley's snake eyes went wide, meeting Aziraphale's. Slowly, they turned around.

A huge brown bear was approaching them with bared teeth. Its hungry eyes locked onto the s'mores in their hands.

"Keep perfectly still," Aziraphale whispered. "Maybe it'll go away."

Crowley snorted. "Yeah, and maybe pigs will fly. It wants our food." As if to prove its point, the bear stopped just a few feet from them, stood on its hind legs, and roared.

"Okay, okay, here!" Aziraphale threw his s'more into the bush and watched mournfully as the bear dove after it and gobbled it up. _I'm just not destined to get anything to eat today, am I?_

"It's the seagulls all over again," Crowley said.

"Well, do you have a better idea?" Aziraphale snapped. "Because I don't know about you, but I would very much prefer _not_ to be discorporated by having my body become bear food."

"Yeah, I do have a better idea. We can _fight_ the damn thing." Crowley set down his s'more, and just as the bear licked its lips and looked up for more, his eyes went full yellow and he shifted into his snake form. The bear growled. Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale stood up and backed away, anxiety eating at him. What if Crowley got hurt? What if _he_ was discorporated and then Hell did the rest? Aziraphale wouldn't be able to help him. He watched, trembling, as Crowley advanced on the bear.

He struck out with his head, and the bear roared and jumped back. He lunged again, but this time the bear was too quick for him and swiped at his head with its paw. Crowley was knocked to the ground, and Aziraphale cried out.

"Please, Crowley, no! It's too dangerous, you'll get killed!"

_"I'm fine,"_ he hissed, and before Aziraphale knew what was happening, he had wrapped his body around the bear and squeezed hard. It roared in agony and tried to swipe at him again, but to no avail. Seeing his chance, Crowley opened his mouth wide and sank his fangs right into the bear's chest. It moaned, then fell to the ground motionless. Aziraphale watched, hand over his mouth, as Crowley slowly untangled himself from the bear and morphed back into his human form.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" Aziraphale yelled. He was torn between throwing his arms around Crowley in a huge hug and shaking him for his stupidity. "You could have been killed! A s'more isn't worth dying for! It's not even worth killing a bear for."

"Oh, please, I didn't _kill_ it. It's just taking a nice long nap." Crowley opened a water bottle and gargled with it, then spat out the water and a couple of bear hairs into some nearby plants. "You're welcome, by the way. Thanks to me, we still have s'mores left."

"Yes. Thank you, I suppose," Aziraphale said, gathering them up. He handed one to Crowley and was relieved to finally eat one himself. No dessert had ever tasted so good.

"What do we do now?" he asked, once he'd licked the remains from his finger.

"First we grab all our stuff and make sure the campfire's put out," Crowley said, moving to do just that. He slung the backpack onto his shoulders and poured the water bottle over what was left of their fire. "Then, we do what we should have done ages ago." He snapped his fingers, and the next thing Aziraphale knew, they were standing beside the Bentley.

"Oh. Right. Suppose that would have been the wiser course," he said sheepishly. He honestly hadn't even thought about it. The hunger had been too distracting.

"Get in," Crowley said, opening the car door. "I don't know where we're going next, but it's going to be someplace with buildings."

"Yes, please," Aziraphale sighed. He loaded their gear into the car and then lay back in the passenger seat. Crowley drove them down the rural road and onto the highway.

_I couldn't ask for a better travel companion_ , he thought as he rolled down the window to let the breeze play with his hair. From the s'mores to fending off the bear, Crowley had made all the bad parts of camping better.

Aziraphale only wished he could do something like that for him.


	7. Star Struck

Crowley breathed a sigh of relief when at last civilization came into view. "Now this is more like it," he said, pointing to the buildings, billboards, and traffic. "Not a raccoon or bear in sight."

"Perhaps," Aziraphale said tightly. The proud git still wasn't willing to admit that his camping idea had been a bad one. "Not sure what there is to do here though. I shall have to see if there's a bookshop."

"Oh, no you don't," Crowley shook his head. "We did your idea last time. Now we're doing my idea."

"Fine. What _is_ your idea?"

Crowley wondered that himself. "Just give me a moment." He turned his head in every direction, trusting the Bentley to drive itself while he looked for something cool. A lot of the best parts of cities weren't open during the day, and he wasn't much of a museum person. He read the signs as they drove down every street.

"Shopping center…restaurant district…aquarium." That would work if he couldn't find anything better, but there had to be something more fun to do than look at a bunch of fish. "Gallery…hospital…oh hey, here we go!" He made a sharp turn and Aziraphale yelped, clutching the grab bar on the roof of the car.

_"Must_ you do that to your passenger?" Aziraphale groaned.

"Had to, otherwise I would've missed it," Crowley said. "Shouldn't be too far." He zigzagged in and out of lanes, flipping off the many horns that protested at being cut off. Quick curve to the right, then a left, then—"There it is!"

Aziraphale looked up and squinted. "Planetarium, Space Center, and Observatory for Scientific Learning. You really want to go here?"

"Of course." Crowley hurried out of the car. "Come on, let's go." He hadn't been to a planetarium in a decade, not since London had stupidly replaced theirs with an entertainment center, a crime he had never forgiven them for. The Peter Harrison building was still there, of course, but in his opinion, it was a poor substitute. Anyway, this one looked better. The place was _huge_ , with a decorative solar system out front and signs advertising a museum, theater, labs, gift shop, and even astronaut training facilities.

Anything to do with astronomy and outer space made Crowley feel at his happiest, and planetariums were by far the best place to learn about them. Books were boring and required too much attention, and while Crowley could travel to space himself, it was difficult, and exploring the entire universe himself would take far too much time. Besides, it wasn't as if he could be bothered to count how many galaxies and planets there were. The humans did that for him, and they nicely catalogued everything here. They even had neat simulators that let you feel like you were there already. Crowley longed for that. He had only built a tiny part of the universe, and the rest had all been handled by others. One day, he hoped he'd see it all.

The inside was even better. Crowley tucked his sunglasses away and stared in awe at the colorful photos overhead. Nebulas, comets, and galaxies covered the ceiling and walls, with comet tails pointing the way to the various parts of the building.

"I should think the theater would be a lovely place, and there's always the gift shop for souvenirs—Crowley! Wait!" Aziraphale hurried to catch up.

Crowley could barely hear him; he was drawn to the museum and exhibits as if in a trance. He began at the first display, which explained stars, and read every word, mesmerized by the magnificence. Aziraphale was saying something beside him, but he tuned it out.

_Some estimate that the Milky Way alone has 100 billion stars, with the closest one being the sun. Stars are balls of hydrogen and helium gas held together by their own gravity…_ Crowley remembered the moment they were made.

_Long stretches of blackness is not enough_ , folks had whispered. _The Almighty is entrusting us to add some light to it._ And they had. All twenty million angels had each made at least one star, and Crowley couldn't get enough. He remembered the warmth in his hands, throwing it out to space, watching it find its own little place and twinkle among its friends, perfectly complementing the darkness. He had rarely felt so at peace as he had when watching his finished creations. In space, there were no angels or demons or good or bad. Just beauty.

"And this is Alpha Centauri, which, at four point thirty-seven light-years from the sun, is actually the closest star and planetary system to Earth." A tour guide was leading a group of schoolchildren. She gestured to a screen showing Alpha Centauri in all its glory. The children oohed and ahhed appreciatively. "So far only one planet has been confirmed there, though it is possible there could be more."

Crowley smiled. If only they knew.

The guide continued cheerfully. "Alpha Centauri is one of the brightest stars in our sky, although you need a telescope to see it. You can also see some of the nebulas here, with lots of pretty colors."

_Thanks,_ Crowley thought. Aziraphale squeezed his shoulder. He leaned in to whisper something.

"You know, for a long time, I thought the Almighty had created Alpha Centauri and its nebulas. They were so beautiful I assumed that had to be the case. You can imagine how amazed I was to find out it was you."

Crowley turned away, hoping he wasn't blushing and quickly slipping his shades on in case he was. That was the coolest thing anyone had ever said to him.

"Um, thanks," he said. He put a hand over his chest to silence his furious heartbeat. He had made something beautiful. Something Aziraphale thought had been God's work, that was showcased in museums, that children admired. _He_ had done that. With his own two hands.

_And you never will again._

Crowley's smile fell.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, looking puzzled and worried. "Everything all right?"

"Fine," he said, looking away. "C'mon. Let's go see the rest." He picked up his pace and ignored Aziraphale's exasperated huffing and puffing behind him as he struggled to keep up. Crowley tried to focus on the exhibits, but every beautiful burst of color, every exclamation from the visitors, felt like a slap to the face.

_Look at everything God took from you. Look at everything you'll never get back. Never create._ The planets, comets, asteroids, nebulas, stars, galaxies, and supernovas surrounded him, practically taunting him with their beauty, their potential. Before he Fell, Crowley had so many ideas for them. Saturn's rings were supposed to be much bigger, and Jupiter was going to have a few other spots and colors to make a nice design. He had envisioned it all so perfectly, and now none of it would ever be finished. For so long, he had pushed all of that disappointment down, and now it was coming back with a vengeance as if to make up for lost time.

Crowley's throat tightened. "Um, I have to, uh, use the loo."

"What? But we never have to—" Crowley rushed into the first restroom he could find and locked the door. He shut himself into a stall, ripped off his shades, and pressed his fists to his eyes.

He was _not_ going to cry, dammit. He was a demon. Demons didn't _do_ crying, that was silly human stuff. Head Office made that clear by throwing you to the hellhounds for so much as a sniffle. He breathed in, breathed out, and shook his head over and over. His eyes cleared. He put his shades back on and glared.

There. He was fine. Everything was fine.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale was knocking on the door. "Is everything okay in there?"

"Of course it is," he snapped. He had to get out of here before this place dragged up any more memories. Opening the door, he grabbed Aziraphale's arm. "Let's go."

"Go? But we haven't even—"

"Come _on_ ," he growled, pulling him toward the planetarium entrance and out the doors. Aziraphale stumbled behind him, confused.

"I don't understand. This was your idea, and now you want to leave so quickly?"

"Plans change, all right? Just get in the damn car." He shoved Aziraphale toward the passenger side, feeling a twinge of guilt when the angel looked hurt and angry. Sliding into the driver's seat, he slammed the door closed and started the engine.

"Crowley, what's wrong?" Aziraphale asked, annoyed. "You're not making any sense. One minute you can't wait to see the planetarium, and now you can't get away from it fast enough."

"Nothing's wrong. Get in." Crowley clutched the steering wheel, gritting his teeth. The second Aziraphale's door closed, he floored it out of there, sending him back into the seat.

"Did something happen in there? Was there something I said that—"

"Just _drop it_ ," Crowley spat. "Shut up until I find us a hotel, can you do that, please? Just five minutes without flapping your big mouth?"

Aziraphale turned quietly away toward the window, his hand on the door handle. For a second, Crowley thought he might try to leave when the car was moving, or miracle himself somewhere else. He was blinking hard. The guilt returned even stronger, squeezing his heart.

_Why did that damn place have to dredge up so many memories?_ Crowley glared out the windshield. Why couldn't he just enjoy the planetarium without having to remember the Fall like that?

Not that it bothered him. Because it didn't. No one in their right mind would want to be part of that stuffy country club that passed for Heaven, least of all Crowley. He didn't need it, didn't miss it, and never wanted to go back. His body probably just needed a nap or something. They'd been traveling for a while.

He turned into the parking lot of the first hotel he saw. "Go get us checked in. I'll get the stuff." Aziraphale started to say something, then changed his mind and stalked through the doors, looking the picture of dejection. Crowley tried to put it out of his head as he grabbed their suitcases out of the boot and rolled them inside.

As soon as they had their room, Crowley fell onto the bed and yanked the covers up over him. Aziraphale hovered near the bed nervously, hands twitching.

_"What?"_ Crowley snapped, and Aziraphale winced as if he'd hit him. "Could you please make it a little more obvious that you want to ask me something but are afraid to? Because I don't think you've made it clear enough."

Aziraphale raised his voice. "Why are you so upset? Can't you just tell me what—"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm not upset. Shut up and let me sleep."

"Not upset? You went from being cheerful to being angry in the span of a few…"

"Maybe it's because of how annoying you are, ever think of that?"

_What the heaven is the matter with you, arsehole?_ he thought to himself. He had never acted like this to Hastur and Ligur, let alone Aziraphale. Where was it even coming from?

"Well, I suppose I'll just leave then!"

"Yes, please do, get out of here and give me just a few moments of peace, would you?" He rolled over and glared at the wall. The door to the room opened and closed. Footsteps faded away. The second they did, Crowley sat up in horror.

"What have I done?" he asked himself. "He didn't even do anything." He sighed and put his head in his hands. Such an idiot. He was pissed off at God and Heaven and was taking it out on Aziraphale. The one person who had actually been cool to him.

"Aziraphale!" He jumped out of bed and flung the door open. The hallway was empty. "Aziraphale!" He ran down the hall. No sign of him.

"Great," he muttered, hitting the wall with his fist. Well, he supposed he deserved that. Aziraphale would surely be back in a little while, to get his stuff if nothing else. Crowley could patch things up then. He retreated to the room and sat on the balcony, closing his eyes and trying to calm the anger inside him.

* * *

An hour passed, and just when Crowley was starting to panic, Aziraphale came back. The comfort food in his hands indicated he'd gone out to eat his feelings, the poor sod. Crowley opened his mouth to apologize, but the anger still hadn't calmed. Instead he gave him a nod and crossed his arms.

Aziraphale set his parcels down and came out to stand beside him on the balcony. "You don't have to tell me what's bothering you—"

"Yeah, damn right I don't."

"Let me finish," Aziraphale said softly. "You don't have to tell me anything you're uncomfortable with, but please, Crowley." He sniffed. Crowley was shocked to look up and see him brushing his eyes. "Please, at least don't shut me out like this. I always felt left out when I was with them, and the reason I loved being with you is because you never made me feel like that, and now…" He drew in a big, shuddering breath.

"We're all we've got, Crowley. If we don't have each other, we don't have anything. Or anyone."

Crowley began to tremble, his anger melting away. For a moment, he imagined a world where Aziraphale had been driven away from him, too hurt to be anywhere near him. He wanted to throw him into a hug and beg him not to leave.

He hung his head. "'m sorry."

Those arms around him felt so good. "It's all right," Aziraphale whispered into his ear, patting his back. "Just let me be here for you, that's all I ask."

_I don't deserve him._ He had been such a jerk, and all this wonderful, beautiful, _kind_ soul had done was try to help him. If he could do that, Crowley could meet him halfway. He tightened his arms around Aziraphale, grateful he couldn't see his face, and mumbled, "It all reminded me of before."

"Before?"

"What I used to build."

"Oh." He was quiet a moment, rubbing Crowley's back. His hands were soft and warm. "You were the most talented builder there was."

"I had to leave a lot of things unfinished," Crowley said. He brought one hand up to rub his eyes, he was _NOT_ going to cry. There. Gone. "And they'll always be unfinished."

"But they aren't any less beautiful," Aziraphale told him. "Like I said, I thought many were the Almighty's work at first. And you can still make many more beautiful things."

"No, I can't," Crowley said bitterly. "I lost that power, Aziraphale. I won't ever get it back."

"Well, maybe you can't build a _planet_ ," Aziraphale admitted. "But that isn't the only thing worth creating. You could take up…oh, I don't know, painting or carpentry or creative writing. Maybe music. You may have lost your power, but you didn't lose your gift." He pulled back to look at him and smile.

"Somewhere in that stubborn and wily head of yours is an exceptional imagination. And I for one would love to see anything that comes out of it, even if it's on a smaller scale."

_I'm not crying. I'm not crying. I'm not crying._ And he didn't. He breathed in, and the feeling went away. "Thanks," he said, managing a tiny smile of his own. "And again, I'm…sorry."

"Think nothing of it, my dear," Aziraphale assured him, giving his shoulder one last pat. "You should know by now that I'm here when you need me."

_What if what I need is something you can't give?_ What Crowley really wanted, what he ached for, was to curl up on a bed in Aziraphale's arms. He'd thought of it constantly since they'd left home, in the quietest hours of the night. If only he could be sure that asking for it wouldn't ruin what they had. And that Aziraphale wouldn't prefer a good book instead.

"Yeah. I'm good now though," he said instead. "Come on inside, let's see if we can find a guide to the city. I bet there's a nice bookshop we could visit tomorrow."

God, how was it possible for Aziraphale's eyes to literally _sparkle_ with happiness? Usually when people said that, they were exaggerating or using a metaphor, but in his case, it really was true. It made Crowley grin when he saw it.

"Really? You'd go to a bookshop with me?"

Crowley nodded and beckoned him inside.

_I would go to the ends of the Earth for you._


	8. Books and Brainstorming

Crowley took his sweet time waking up and getting dressed the next morning, much to Aziraphale's annoyance.

"Crow-leeeee!" he whined. "Please! We really _must_ be on our way."

"'S not goin' anywhere," Crowley mumbled as he reluctantly ran a comb through his hair and dressed. "How is this library going to be any different from all of the _thousands_ of others you've seen?"

"They're all different!" Aziraphale said indignantly. "Each library has its own unique sense of character, both in the architecture of the building itself and in the collection. Some may prioritize scientific or law literature, while others cherish fiction, and still more—"

"Yeah, fine." _Agh._ Today was going to be a long one, but what could Crowley do? He had already promised Aziraphale he would go wherever he wanted today to make up for being such a cock to him yesterday. But _why_ in Someone's name did he have to choose a stupid old library? It wasn't like there weren't plenty of those back home. No matter how "unique a sense of character" these other ones had, they were still just boring old buildings with boring old books. Crowley had expected him to choose a bookstore. At least those had music sections to browse or cafés to sit in with coffee and cake. But no, Aziraphale just _had_ to choose the one place in the entire city that was as old and dull as he was.

Crowley had tried suggesting that maybe they could each do their own thing that day. "You don't want me dragging you down," he'd said, trying to sweeten the deal. "You could go on your own and spend all the time there that you like, and I could find something to do around the rest of the city. Then we could meet back at the hotel for dinner."

As soon as he'd said it, Aziraphale's face had fallen like lead. "Oh. I suppose. We could do that, if it's what you'd prefer. I just thought…well, that we'd explore that area together. Get lunch and walk about, you know. Maybe even do some shopping. But if you'd rather go alone…" And thus Crowley had been stuck saying that no, of course they could do it that way, it'd been silly to think of parting ways. Aziraphale had brightened right back up.

Damn those puppy eyes of his.

"All right, I'm ready," he said, grabbing his phone and earbuds. He would need them to get through this visit. "Let's go off to the _library_." He added a mocking emphasis on the word, tilting his head from side to side.

Aziraphale, of course, did not notice the sarcasm. He instead proceeded to cry "Whee!" with far too much excitement for a six-thousand-year-old being and skipped out to the Bentley as fast as he could.

For once, he didn't say one word about Crowley's fast driving.

* * *

"It's here! It's here!" Aziraphale was practically halfway out the window by the time Crowley pulled into the parking lot. "Oh, isn't it beautiful?"

"That's one way to put it."

The small and unimpressive library was built of faded brick, covered in moss, and mostly unattended. Crowley doubted it had been renovated in decades, if at all. There was no book drop, no café, and nothing around. Who did they serve out here, country bumpkins? Certainly not city folk, he'd had to drive much too far for that.

The inside wasn't much better. Stained carpet, dim lighting, faded furniture, the musty smell of old books (Aziraphale breathed it in and sighed happily), and computers that would have been right at home in the eighties. A screaming toddler in the back was trying to grab the attention of a very disinterested parent staring at the shelves without really seeing them. At the front desk were frowning librarians who looked as though they would love to be anywhere but here.

"Come on, let's go see the back," Aziraphale whispered urgently, tugging on his sleeve. "That's where you find the hidden treasures."

 _What are those, books from this century?_ Crowley bit his tongue. He never saw the use in buying something that wasn't brand new, especially since angels and demons didn't have to worry about money. Why settle for a yellowed, smudged, torn book with a cracked spine and dog-eared pages that had seen better days when you could either download it or buy a brand new copy that had the same text but was in much better shape? Yet Aziraphale would not hear of it. He loved old things, antique things, and things "with history," as he put it.

Crowley followed him to the back of the library and tried to resist rolling his eyes as Aziraphale began to thoroughly embarrass himself. "Oh, _look_ at these gorgeous volumes, I haven't seen this style of binding in ages. And how long the shelves are! It's like they go on forever."

Only Aziraphale could be this excited over a library—gasp!—having _books in it_. He acted the same way in bookshops too, the goof ball. To watch him, you would think it was the first time he'd heard of such a thing. Crowley glanced at him with just a little fondness. It really didn't take much to make him happy. He had to admit, he liked that about him.

"Literature, philosophy, spirituality, ah, and what a clever trick! They've organized by the Dewey Decimal System, but have strategically incorporated just enough of an appearance of disorder to make it all look friendly and approachable."

Crowley snorted. That sounded like a charitable way of saying the shelving was shit because the staff couldn't be arsed to care where things went.

"Don't tell me you're going to start reading all of these," Crowley warned.

"Oh no, I couldn't, I'm afraid. There's far too many, and besides, I wouldn't know where to start."

 _Thank Satan. Can we go now?_ Is what he would have said had Aziraphale's next words not made him pause.

"I do miss my bookshop," he said, shoulders sagging for the first time. "This place reminds me of it very much. I hope it's faring all right without me there to look after it."

"Sure it is. You locked it up good and tight." Crowley felt guilty now. Was Aziraphale homesick? The bookshop had been where he lived and worked for centuries. And he had left it behind to try and make Crowley happy by going on this spontaneous getaway. The fact still amazed him. Surely Aziraphale loved the shop much more than Crowley. It was his life's work. 

Aziraphale sighed. "As much as I love my bookshop, I often wish I could have a real library."

Crowley was puzzled. "Um…Angel, you can." What on earth was stopping him? The only thing he hated more than having to deal with customers was having to sell and part with one of his beloved books. He was always closing the shop early and opening it late to get out of it. Such a bizarre approach might have made sense when Heaven was keeping tabs on him and he was trying to convince them he wasn't hoarding stuff, but what did it matter what they thought of him now?

Aziraphale stopped and thought. "Oh. Oh, right. I suppose I can, can't I?" He didn't seem nearly as thrilled about that as Crowley would have thought. His fingers began to fidget. "Perhaps, uh, one day I shall."

 _He still hasn't completely moved on,_ Crowley realized. Some part of him was either still trying to please the angels or still feeling like he was required to please them. If only he'd just give it up, he'd be much happier. Crowley pondered this as Aziraphale went up and down the rows of books, exclaiming once in a while at something or other.

Maybe _he_ could get Aziraphale a library as a gift. That way, he wouldn't have to feel bad about using it. He watched him squeal with delight over a stack of old Bibles and laughed. A library would probably make the silly old angel explode or discorporate from pure joy. And it might not even be that hard.

Yes. Crowley would do it. He wasn't sure how yet, but someday, somehow, he would build a library for Aziraphale. Something to make him as content and fulfilled as he'd made Crowley feel, not that he could ever tell him that.

_I'll build one that's everything you've ever wanted. All of your heart's—_

"Crowley!"

"Wha?" He was startled out of his daydream by an absolutely ecstatic angel. One who was sprinting toward him and attracting the glares and shushing of the librarians and a few patrons. Aziraphale was holding a tattered old book and sporting the widest smile Crowley had ever seen on him. His eyes were sparkling so brightly it made Crowley's face feel hot and woozy just to look at them.

"Look what I found! Look, look, I can't believe it! I've been searching for one of these for ages."

Crowley squinted at the fading title. " _The Hobbit_ by J.R.R. Tolkien. Oh, that's the one with the movies we saw together." He raised an eyebrow. "Don't you already have a hundred copies of that one?"

Aziraphale bounced up and down, pointing to the book and speaking rapidly. "Don't you understand? This isn't just _any_ copy of _The Hobbit_. This is a rare, one-of-a-kind 1930's edition of the original text in which the creature Gollum encounters Bilbo Baggins of the Shire and actually _gives_ him the one ring to rule them all as a birthday present, a text which was later revised so that dear Bilbo steals the ring and Gollum becomes his mortal enemy, setting events in motion that will culminate sixty years later as the turning point of Middle-earth history in the battle against the forces of the evil Sauron and provide the necessary premises for _The Lord of the Rings_ , the sequel series known as the Bible of fantasy literature with deeply rooted themes of Catholicism, and ever since its publication, the copies like the one I hold in my hands were never printed again, making them a rare and highly coveted collector's item of great value!"

"…what."

Aziraphale huffed but smiled. "Basically this is a good book that's hard to find, worth a lot of money, and I wish I had one."

"Ah. Now you're speaking English."

He sighed like a romantic. "I just love this story," he said, stroking the cover reverently. "Never in all the literature I've come across have I related to a character so much and so deeply as Bilbo Baggins."

"Why?" Crowley thought he recalled seeing one of the films once, but he couldn't remember much. He knew there was a wizard dressed in brown who seemed like he was on something, but the rest of it had faded the moment he'd left the theater.

"Because he's so fond of the comforts of home, yet he also craves adventure," Aziraphale said, sobering up. "Bilbo loves his house, his books, his six square meals a day. He prefers a simple and quiet life, but a wise old wizard named Gandalf realizes that Bilbo is missing out on a great big beautiful world by staying where he is all the time. So, he and a group of dwarves get Bilbo to go on a journey with them."

This was sounding too familiar for comfort.

Aziraphale continued. "And the whole time he's gone, Bilbo thinks many times of his beloved old hobbit hole. He has good times on the journey, but he still misses home. I suppose you could say I feel the same about my bookshop."

 _Does he regret coming on the trip?_ Crowley worried. He seemed to be enjoying it well enough, but maybe that was just a front he put on out of politeness for Crowley's sake. Maybe he really did prefer the company of books. "It was worth coming at least for this library, right?" Crowley asked, only half joking.

"Oh my, of course," he said. "I've had a grand time so far. Well, except for the, um, incident we had yesterday. But this book…" He frowned and the sparkle in his eyes faded. "I wish I could buy it from them. It hasn't been well cared for and is falling into disrepair. If only I could take it home with me, I could check it into my book hospital and—"

"Your _what_ now?"

"My book hospital. I don't suppose you've seen it, but it's a little area of my bookshop where I take all of the books in need of a little tender loving care, and with a few miracles and the right kind of tape—"

"Yeah, I get the idea." Crowley snorted. A book hospital. Really.

"Yes, well. I suppose I'll just have to keep looking. Nice to know there are still copies like this out there though." Aziraphale set the book on the shelf. He gave it one last, long look before pulling Crowley along to see another part of the library.

* * *

_Finally!_ Crowley couldn't get out of the creaky old door fast enough. He welcomed the sunshine on his face as he and Aziraphale headed for the Bentley. How one person could be so endlessly fascinated by a perfectly normal library was beyond him, but at least it was all over. Now they could go on to shop, sightsee, and eat lunch.

"Ah, that was such a lovely visit," Aziraphale said. "Thank you for being such a good sport and coming with me. It really was so much better for having you there."

"Really?" Crowley didn't see how that was possible. It wasn't like he'd contributed much to the conversation. Did Aziraphale enjoy being with him that much? The thought made his heart thump so hard it hurt.

"Of course." Aziraphale smiled at him, a bit shyly, as he got into the car and closed the door. "There aren't many places not made better by your presence."

Crowley looked away while starting the car so Aziraphale wouldn't notice his body start to wiggle. It had this annoying habit of shifting into snake form on its own when he was caught off guard by something, almost like some kind of defense mechanism. He could stop it if he wanted, but it took some effort.

"Well, I have something you'll like even better than me," he said once his body calmed down.

"Hmm? And what would that be?"

Crowley flashed him a sly grin and pulled _The Hobbit_ from the inside pocket of his coat. He slapped it into Aziraphale's lap and floored it out of the parking lot and onto the road.

"Wha—how did—Crowley, you didn't!"

"I quite clearly did. You're welcome, by the way."

"Oh, you, you wily old…I can't believe…Crowley, you're a marvel!" he finally said. His bookworm side apparently won out over his moral side. "Thank you. I don't approve of stealing, and especially not from libraries, but nevertheless I'm honored that you would do so just for me."

"Please, you'll take better care of that book than they ever did," Crowley told him, smirking. "Once you get it into your 'book hospital.'"

"I'll have you know I am very proud of my book hospital!"

"Believe me. I don't doubt it."

Aziraphale ignored him. "Gosh, I can't believe it," he said again, unable to take his eyes off the book. "After all these years, I finally have my very own rare Hobbit edition."

Crowley watched him out of the corner of his eye, in awe of his delight. How was it that material goods, something that brought so much happiness, was considered wrong by the people who called themselves the good guys? Not that it mattered. They were on their own side now, after all.

What's more, Crowley now knew what the next step was as far as his relationship with Aziraphale. He would build him a library. That was the closest he could come to showing how he felt while still having plausible deniability if things went wrong.

He would start work on it as soon as they returned home.


	9. Dance All Night

Aziraphale could hardly recall a more enjoyable day in the city than the one he and Crowley spent together, sampling the local cuisine and popping in and out of stores. His companion seemed to be on his best behavior, waiting patiently as Aziraphale hurried into any place with even a single shelf of books and agonized over all the choices on every page of every menu. Crowley made excellent conversation, moved at any pace the angel pleased, and even treated Aziraphale to a sundae at one point.

He should have known it was going to cost him.

The sun had dipped behind the buildings and the stars had come out. Aziraphale yawned. "Well, I suppose it's time for a little reading before bed. Perhaps a bath as well."

"Oh no, no, no," Crowley shook his head, grinning. Aziraphale knew that grin and it made him more than a little uneasy. "Nighttime isn't for bed and books, you idiot. The night is when the _real_ fun begins."

"The…real fun?" Aziraphale frowned. "You mean like going to the theater? A concert, perhaps?"

"Hmm." Crowley put his arm around Aziraphale and brought him close, grinning some more. "How about we try something a little different tonight? Something we've never done before?"

"Never?" Considering how long they'd been on Earth, there weren't many things they hadn't done before. Aziraphale much preferred the comfort of familiarity anyway.

"Well, it _is_ my turn to pick, right?" Crowley said it in such a soft, gentle voice that you'd have to really know him to see the sneaky glint in his eye. _Of course._ No wonder he had been such a perfect gentleman all day long. He'd made sure Aziraphale couldn't say no to whatever diabolical scheme he'd concocted.

"Yes," he admitted. "I suppose it is. What do you have in mind?"

Crowley stopped under a plaza light that was changing colors. "Since we're finally back in a big city, I figure we should do the kind of thing that can only be done in a place like this. What do you say we head over there?" He pointed to a building with flashing lights and pulsing music so loud Aziraphale could hear it from across the street. Rainbows glowed from inside the windows with cheers emanating from them. _Pride Nights_ , read the rainbow neon sign.

Aziraphale tapped his fingers together. "Oh dear. Well, you know, nightclubs aren't really my, um, my shot."

"Your _scene_."

"Scene, yes."

"Oh." Crowley bowed his head and stuck out his lip. "I just thought, well, that we might try it together. Have a few drinks, do some dancing. But if you'd rather go alone…"

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. "I do _not_ sound that pitiful."

"You're right, I'm not doing you justice. The real you sounds _way_ more pathetic."

Pathetic, indeed! "Well, fine then!" Aziraphale straightened his bowtie. "We'll go to your silly nightclub."

"Great." Crowley's smile looked genuine now, though it vanished quickly as he looked Aziraphale up and down. "But please, for Heaven's sake, wear normal clothes."

"These _are_ normal clothes!" Aziraphale said indignantly.

"Yeah, maybe a hundred and fifty years ago." Crowley found a secluded spot, snapped his fingers, and suddenly Aziraphale was wearing a white T-shirt and light brown jeans, without a bowtie in sight.

"There we are. And before you freak out, I sent your old clothes back to the hotel." He eyed Aziraphale up and down again. "Wow. You look…um."

"Hideous?" Aziraphale asked, wincing at the way the T-shirt clung to his rolls of fat and how tight the button on the trousers was. His arms were so exposed in the night air that he wanted to put them behind his back. He'd never worn anything but his Victorian favorite in ages (Hawaiian beachwear notwithstanding), and couldn't help missing it.

"No!" Crowley all but shouted. "You look amazing. I wish you'd dress like this all the time. If you did, I'd—" He shook his head. "Well. Anyhow. Let's go inside." He hurried to the door.

_Curious._ Why had he gotten so flustered? It wasn't like Aziraphale looked _good_ in this getup. Crowley had probably made it tight on purpose just to make him look ugly. Nothing that showed this much skin and muscle and fat was going to be flattering, and why would anyone want to see his meaty arms? The only bright side was that the colors were the same as his old outfit.

Crowley opened the door, and Aziraphale was assaulted by repetitive beats so loud he almost couldn't tell whether they were inside his head or out of it. Every inch of space was packed with young people (and a few old people) dancing. Some of whom were doing so in ways that made Aziraphale want to avert his eyes. Rainbows lit up the room, and a pride flag covered the wall in the back. He held on to Crowley's hand to avoid getting lost in the sea of humans, and was grateful when he managed to find them seats at the bar.

"Gimme the strongest you've got," Crowley said to the bartender, having to shout to be heard. "Angel, what do you want?"

"Er, I don't suppose they have any chateauneuf du pape?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "He'll take a Scotch." The bartender set their drinks in front of them. He downed his in a few gulps.

Aziraphale sipped at his tentatively. It wasn't his type of drink at all but he didn't wish to offend the bartender. The crowds were so close that occasionally an arm or elbow would hit him in the back with a hurried "Sorry!" from the culprit. By the time he had gotten halfway through his drink, Crowley had emptied another glass.

"C'mon, Angel, have s'more!" He slid the Scotch closer. "I'll get you another. Hey, tenderbar!" He hiccupped. "'nother 'un fer him."

"I'm quite all right, thank you—" The words were completely drowned out by the noise. The next thing Aziraphale knew, there was a shot of tequila sitting in front of him.

_Why on earth is he trying so hard to get us both drunk?_ he wondered. Usually they only did that in private when they were both worried about something, like when they'd found out about Armageddon. They never got drunk together in public. Maybe Crowley considered this part of the whole "broaden our horizons" thing for the trip?

"Um. Yes, well, I suppose I'll have a sip." He raised the drink to his mouth and it took every polite and well-mannered bone in his body not to spit it out. "Lovely," he lied. _Can we go now?_ He thought miserably. Surely the library hadn't been as horrible for Crowley as this was for him? At least the library wasn't crowded!

"Why, hello gorgeous!" a voice slurred. Aziraphale turned and, to his horror, saw a very attractive woman fawning over Crowley with her hand in his hair. The hair that Aziraphale used to stroke and hold back when Crowley got too drunk and vomited into the toilet. The hair that Aziraphale had seen go through countless lengths and styles through all of human history.

"What do you say to a little dance?" she purred, putting her face right up against his, the face that Aziraphale knew better than anyone.

_Tell her off, Crowley._ Aziraphale glared at the woman, loathing her like he'd never loathed anyone. _Come on, make some smart remark like you do._

Crowley giggled. He leaned in as she ran her manicured fingers up and down his arm. The arm that Aziraphale had watched carry a broken Bentley part into battle. "Mm," she moaned as she came in closer.

_No. This can't be. He can't._ At least Crowley wasn't touching her back, but he wasn't exactly stopping her from running her perfectly polished hands all over him. Think of it! Those fingernails were sharp as knives! She could cut Crowley and injure him and then where would he be? Well, there was nothing for it. Aziraphale would simply have to intervene. It was for Crowley's own good, that's all.

"He's with me," Aziraphale said, clapping a hand hard onto his shoulder. He expected Crowley to snap at him to bugger off, but amazingly, he smiled. He looked almost excited.

The woman, however, did not. "What are you doing? Go away." She glared at him and—would you believe it— _pushed his hand aside._

Oh, that did it.

Aziraphale snatched Crowley around the waist to pull him off the seat and onto the dance floor. "Stay away! We've no time for any of your hanky panky!" The woman yelled something back, but it was lost in the crowd as Aziraphale pulled them both into the center of the club. Crowley was giggling more, looking happy and almost relieved for some reason. It made Aziraphale nervous.

"I do hope you'll forgive me, but I simply had to get you away. You're in no state to be forming relationships and she clearly only had one thing on her mind anyway, and did you see the state of those fingernails? Could have cut you right open, and then it would have been up to me to—"

"Angel." Crowley placed a finger over his lips. Maybe it was the drink taking effect, but Aziraphale had a strange urge to lick it. "Less dance."

"Oh. Well, all right." He glanced at the couples in the corner. "Though I'm not sure I could do the kind that seems to be 'in' right now. I only really know the—"

"Gavotte!" Crowley said gleefully. "Yeah, yeah, do it. Do that one."

Aziraphale smiled. "All right." He hadn't done it in so long that it took a minute to remember, but he began. Crowley watched with wide eyes and a happy grin, moving in a seventies-style that he'd learned at a disco club decades ago.

_And around, and a kick and—_ "Ow! Hey, watch it!" Aziraphale jumped as a half-drunk patron glared fiercely. One of his kicks had landed in the wrong place.

"So sorry!" Aziraphale squeaked. "I'll just…" But he quickly realized this was the wrong place for a gavotte. He couldn't move more than a few millimeters in any direction without bumping into someone, and the gavotte was a type of dance that required a whole room full of space.

Crowley didn't seem to notice. "C'mon, keep going!" he cheered right before his hand connected with another dancer's eye.

"Hey!" Her partner shoved Crowley, and he landed right into Aziraphale, who then fell backwards into another dancer, who collapsed into another. It wasn't long before there was a whole crowd of people ticked off at them. Some were gleefully filming them with their phones, chanting, "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"Oh dear." Aziraphale held onto Crowley with growing anxiety. Naturally Crowley was so drunk by this point that he thought the whole thing hilarious and kept giggling. He also stroked Aziraphale's hand, and the angel swore he heard him murmuring something like "Pretty hands, pretty, preeeetty hands."

"Get 'em outta here!" someone yelled.

"This is so going on YouTube!" another person said.

Aziraphale tightened his hold on Crowley's shoulders. "Crowley, I'm sorry, but we must leave now. All right?" When there was no answer, he bent his head down. "Crowley? Can we leave?"

"Preeeeeeeetty haaaaanndddsssss!" he pressed his face to Aziraphale's palm, making his stomach flip.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, and lugged Crowley out of there. The crowd parted way for them and cheered when they reached the door. Aziraphale was relieved when they were finally back on the street and far enough from the music to be heard at normal volume.

"I believe it's time for you to sober up," Aziraphale said.

"Mm." Crowley started to raise his fingers to perform the miracle, but seemed to be confused. He brought his hand to his eyes. "Wait a minute." He squinted, inspecting his fingers. "Are you sure these aren't my toes?"

Aziraphale sighed. "Never mind, I'll do it." He miracled himself back into his old clothes and the alcohol back into the glasses at Pride Nights—much to the bartender's amazement, he imagined. Crowley stood up straight and blinked, his gaze going from glassy to focused.

"Huh. Nice to see you only have one head again," he said. He turned away sheepishly. "Haven't gotten drunk like that in a while."

"Well, it was…an _interesting_ experience," Aziraphale said, leading them back to their hotel. "But I'm glad we were able to get out of there quickly. Those people were about to force us onto the tube!"

"The what?" Crowley looked confused.

"With their phones. They said they were going to put us on a U tube. I don't know what route that train goes to, but it can't be good."

Crowley made a sound that was half laughter, half sigh. He shook his head with a smile. "I guess it was my fault for suggesting it in the first place. Someone like you was always bound to have a tough time in a club."

Aziraphale stopped. What did that mean? Did Crowley still think him an old silly? An uptight stick in the mud? Well, he'd fix that. "I'll have you know I frequented many an establishment back in the day. You should have seen me in 1880."

Crowley smirked. "Oh yeah? Doing what, exactly?"

"You know. Dancing and meeting people and…" He tried to think of the best way to put it. Giving Crowley what he hoped was a flirty wink, he added, "Experimenting."

Crowley frowned. "Experimenting? With what?"

"With humans." He tried to sound like it was no big deal, to sound "cool" as the youngsters would put it. It wouldn't do to have Crowley thinking he was a prudish Puritan, that might make him leave. 

Crowley seemed to be trying hard to figure something out, then his eyes grew huge. "You don't mean—"

"Oh, but I do," Aziraphale said, pleased to have impressed him.

"You—but I always thought—you're not a virgin?"

_So he does think I'm a prude after all._ Well, he would fix that. "No, I am not," he said. "I've had a great many sexual encounters with all sorts of different humans." Perhaps "a great many" was exaggerating just a tad. It was more like six encounters with two humans.

"You…have?" Aziraphale turned his head and was surprised to see Crowley looking worried, almost scared. He was looking away while chewing on his bottom lip, and his legs seemed to be doing that thing back at the spa where they moved closer together.

"Yes, I have," Aziraphale said cautiously. He moved closer to Crowley. "Are you all right?"

Crowley straightened up, and the look of a moment ago was gone. "Anyway. Real shame about the dancing tonight. I liked that."

"Indeed." Aziraphale watched the couples walking by hand in hand, and his chest hurt with how much he envied them. "I miss doing the gavotte. And you were wonderful in, um, whatever it was you were doing."

Crowley smirked, then softened. "How about you do it in our room?" He pointed to the hotel, only a block away now. "There's plenty of space in there. I don't think I've ever seen you do the gavotte. You could show me how it's done."

_I could?_ Aziraphale never in a million years would have thought Crowley would want to see that. It was clean and lighthearted and so… _not_ Crowley.

Yet he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I'd love to! Come, let's hurry." He ran the last block with Crowley by his side, the two of them panting and giggling under the beautiful starry sky.

* * *

"Okay," Crowley said, taking a seat in the chair by the window. "Shoot."

Aziraphale stood with his arms at his sides, blushing. He had always done this dance in a group, never by himself and certainly not with an audience. And a demonic audience at that; what if Crowley thought it was stupid or outdated? Yet there he sat, watching Aziraphale intently with what might even be an encouraging smile on his face. The light from the moon and the lamps in their suite were shining on him. He was beautiful.

"Go on," he said. "It's just me here, after all."

_How can he say that?_ "Just" Crowley. As if there was anyone else more important. More noble and kind and caring.

Aziraphale moved into position and closed his eyes. He was back in Portland Place, 1880. John's arm was linked through his own.

_'Tis rare indeed to see such a fair face as yours around here._ John had been happy, youthful, with a sly boyish charm that reminded him so much of Crowley. He had loved Dickens and Shakespeare too, and they'd struck up a conversation that went on for hours. That conversation turned into an invitation to Portland Place. He and John and the rest of John's mates kicked, spun around, held out their arms, smiled, and laughed. No one demeaned or mocked or gave looks. Everybody was an outcast, and therefore they all fit in. That invitation had turned into Aziraphale's first encounter.

And his second.

And his third.

He and Crowley hadn't been on speaking terms in twenty years, and the loneliness had led him to spend many a night at Portland Place. John enjoyed their encounter even more than Aziraphale did, and wanted more.

Too much more.

_"It's nothing against you. I simply neither need nor desire to share a home with anybody."_

_"You will not leave your shop with all your books and comforts even for me?"_

Aziraphale hadn't known what to say to that. It wasn't as if he could speak the truth about the dangers of getting too close to a human.

John had shaken his head. _"Perhaps it's for the best. Only you could ever please a man as selfish and cowardly as yourself."_

Aziraphale had pleaded after him, but to no avail. The words haunted him. Selfish and cowardly. Was that really what he was?

John made a point of ignoring him from then on, and Aziraphale did not hear from him or his family again until his death in 1944, not long after the blitz. His was the first and only funeral Aziraphale had ever attended.

"Looking good." Aziraphale snapped back to the present. He had forgotten himself. Trying to push down the memories, he focused on the dance.

Good lord, he had missed this. Even after all these years, his muscles knew just what to do. By the time he had finished, he was sorry it was over. Aziraphale opened his eyes and nearly jumped.

Crowley was standing in front of him, holding out a hand. "That was a very nice dance," he said--completely sincerely, Aziraphale noticed. "May I have the next one?"

His palm was open and expectant. Aziraphale's heart thundered as he placed his own inside it. They came closer. Crowley's arm went around his shoulders and Aziraphale placed a careful hand on Crowley's waist.

Slowly, they danced. Back and forth, side to side, all around the room, which Aziraphale came to realize was not nearly as big as Crowley made it sound. Side, side, up, down, and then Crowley was twirling him and Aziraphale was sure he was floating. Those golden eyes glowed like the sun. How close could a person get to them before they burned?

He tilted his face closer. Crowley's eyes widened, then closed. Aziraphale moved forward, pursing his lips.

_Only you could ever please a man as selfish as cowardly as yourself._

Aziraphale stopped. Moved back. Crowley opened his eyes, looking puzzled and just the smallest bit hurt. Aziraphale forced a smile, moving them back into the rhythm again. He pulled Crowley close and pressed his face to his shoulder so he wouldn't see those eyes.

_Trust me,_ he thought as he held him tightly. _It's for the best._


	10. Mountain Mayhem

The fun and thrills of dancing all night led to them sleeping very late the next day. Even Aziraphale didn't raise his head from his pillow until 11:30, at which point he realized a bill had been slipped under their door, letting them know that checkout time had passed and they were being charged for an extra night. He sighed and snuggled back into the covers.

He lay in bed waiting for Crowley to wake up, listening to the somewhat invasive sounds of the city. Though it had been a relief to enjoy modern conveniences again after the camping fiasco, he found he didn't much care for being in such a noisy place for too long. The whole point of this trip had been to get away from London, after all, not to go someplace just like it.

_Maybe while he's asleep, I can come up with our next destination,_ he thought. That would save time and give them a direction for the day. He remembered seeing a few travel guides and books in the hotel gift shop downstairs, perhaps there'd be something promising in one of those. And he could pick up breakfast for both of them while he was at it.

Over the next hour, he did exactly that. Once Aziraphale was dressed and sufficiently groomed, he left a note for Crowley and took the lift downstairs. He bought guides on the UK, Europe, and the national parks of both. He then popped over to the continental breakfast, happily swinging his bag of books. There was nothing like the feeling of walking out of a store with new books, and he couldn't wait to devour both the words and the food. He loaded up plates for him and Crowley, then balanced everything carefully on his way back up the lift.

When he reached the room and set everything down, he turned to see if Crowley was awake yet. What he saw made him put a hand over his heart and smile.

Crowley was an adorably messy sleeper. His hair was wildly splayed all over the pillow with his head nearly falling off of it, and his limbs went every which way, one leg hanging off the edge of the bed. The blankets were half on and half off since he had kicked them in his sleep (the room had warmed quite a bit with the morning sun), and the soft cotton tank top he'd been wearing had inched up to his chest, leaving his tummy exposed as it rose and fell quietly.

Aziraphale couldn't decide whether to leave him like that or gently try to fix it all and tuck him back in. He didn't want to disturb him, but also knew he wouldn't feel very dignified waking up like that. He settled for carefully lifting his head back onto the pillow and shifting his leg to the bed while leaving the covers off since it was so warm. There was no way he could pull the shirt down without it catching in Crowley's back, so he let that be and tried to ignore the way his heart beat faster every time he looked at him.

_The books, you fool!_ He admonished himself. _Read the books and eat your breakfast._ With some reluctance, Aziraphale did. The food was mediocre at best, but the books were excellent. The beautiful pictures made him want to visit every place they described. One in particular caught his eye.

"The Sierra Nevada Mountains," he murmured, fingering the pages. "A mountain range in Spain featuring hiking, skiing, and more. One of the most popular tourism spots in both the country of Spain and the continent of Europe." He hadn't been to Spain since the Inquisition (which was neither his nor Heaven's fault, thank you very much; humans did that on their own) and as far as he knew, neither had Crowley. The Sierra Nevada gleamed and sparkled in the pictures, and the book described the mountain range as having plenty of modern conveniences. They could rent a cabin and explore the ski resort and little businesses that sold refreshments. There were even houses in the region, so it wouldn't be like the forest at all. How could anyone get lost in a place with no trees? And best of all, there wouldn't be any accursed raccoons or bears trying to steal their dinner.

The more Aziraphale thought about the idea, the more he liked it. They had enjoyed hot weather at the beach and warm weather at the carnival. Now it was time for some colder weather. They'd get the whole Earth experience in one trip. He could hardly wait to tell Crowley.

A moan sounded from the other bed. _Think of the devil._ Crowley was stretching and yawning as much as he could, blinking his eyes open and moving his jaw around.

"Good morning, dear," Aziraphale said sweetly.

"Mm, yeah. Morning." He quickly pulled his shirt down, cheeks the slightest bit pink. "That food over there for me?"

"Oh, yes. Everything that's left over is for you."

"Thanks." He pulled himself up and took it to his bed, sitting cross-legged and sipping his cup of coffee. Nodding at the book, he asked, "New one already?"

"It's a travel guide. I was looking through it to get an idea for where we might go next, and I believe I've found the perfect place." He held up the picture of the mountain range. "The Sierra Nevada in Andalucía, Spain, near the city of Granada. It's only a day's drive from here—well, a day's drive if you speed, which I have no doubt you will despite the law clearly sta—"

_"Aziraphale."_ Crowley gave him a look. "Tell me about the mountain. Why exactly should we go there next?"

"Ah. Well, you see, not only is it beautiful, but it appears to have all the best of both nature and modernity. We could ski or snowboard or hike, rent a cabin with electricity and heating to stay in, and there are places to eat and plenty of space with no trees or animals to get in our way. And beautiful snow, we never get snow like that back home."

"Yeah, we'd probably need a whole new wardrobe to walk through something like that," Crowley said. "Doesn't look bad though."

"Oh, do say yes!" Aziraphale pleaded. "We've been in the city for several days now, and while I've enjoyed it, I do miss the quiet and beauty of nature."

Crowley shrugged. "All right. I'd be fine with heading that way tomorrow if you think you can get your snow gear ready in time."

"Of course I can!" Aziraphale said. "I'll just head over to the shops this afternoon, and whatever I don't find, I'll miracle up. Which, I assume, is what you're going to do?"

"'Course," Crowley said with a mouthful of muffin. "Why would I bother spending hours fighting crowds and paying exorbitant prices for poorly-made stuff when I could just manifest whatever I want to wear in seconds?"

"Because it's not as fun," Aziraphale said, tidying up his part of the room. "I quite like discovering new styles. Don't laugh, Crowley, I pride myself very highly on being stylish!" He pursed his lips at Crowley's giggles.

"You just wait." He headed for the door. "I'm going to come back with the most stylish winter outfit you've ever seen!"

* * *

"So, I guess 'giant puffy marshmallow' was the hit new trend this year?" Crowley asked with the smuggest of smirks.

Aziraphale sighed. "It's not _my_ fault their options were so limited. And besides, anything on me looks big and puffy," he said sadly. He wondered if there was a way he could miracle himself skinnier. Maybe miracle himself a body like Crowley's. If nothing else, he might burn off some of his body fat with what they were about to do.

The Sierra Nevada was ten times as enormous as the guidebook made it appear. They had rented a cabin and dropped off their belongings, then left the Bentley in a covered and secure parking area at the lower part of the mountain. Once it was safe, they had begun to hike toward the ski resort. Both of them were bundled up, but Crowley's outfit was significantly more flattering and photogenic. He had an admirable imagination that was somehow able to come up with a black overcoat that warmed him yet showed off his waist, insulated black trousers, a black ski hat that covered his ears and allowed room for his shades, and a scarf with mittens to match. Even his fur-lined boots had the classic snakeskin look he was known for and they complemented his shades too. Most importantly, it allowed him to move around and do whatever he liked with ease.

Aziraphale's outfit, loathe as he was to admit it, did indeed resemble that of a giant puffy marshmallow. Every shop he went to all seemed to have the same dreadful habit of stocking sizes that were extra-extra small, extra small, small, and extra-extra-extra-large. Only the latter had any hope of accommodating Aziraphale's chubby shape. Since his stubborn pride refused to miracle clothing when he'd already said he'd buy it, he was now stuck wearing an enormous white overcoat that all but swallowed him and padded him so thickly that he could barely move. He was doing more waddling than walking, his ear muffs kept shifting around, and his scarf and gloves were itchy. Even his softest, most beloved fluffy socks kept slipping down, leaving his ankles wide open to chafing from the backs of the boots.

Crowley must have noticed his mood because he quickly changed the subject. "Look at all of that blue sky. You can hardly tell where it ends and the snow begins."

"Beautiful," Aziraphale added, already feeling better. The further he and Crowley hiked, the more beautiful it got. The snow was sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight, and it was so quiet that even the sounds of tourism were far away. Crowley had convinced them they didn't need to follow a crowded path; they could make their own way and with a little miracle, no park ranger would ever see them. Aziraphale had been hesitant at first, but a glance at how crowded and noisy the path was made him agree quickly.

Higher and higher they went, until Aziraphale had to stop to take a breath. "Why don't we just enjoy the snow for a bit?" he suggested. "We could build a snowman."

"What are we, little kids?" Crowley wrinkled his nose.

"Oh, don't be a sourpuss. Make yourself useful and conjure up some buttons and a carrot for me." He dropped to his knees to pack the snow together to make the base. Crowley complied and handed him the items. Aziraphale's hat and scarf went around the head, and he poked holes in the top part for a mouth.

"There!" He stood back and admired his creation. "A regular Frosty the Snowman, if I do say so myself."

"Is your inner six-year-old satisfied yet?" Crowley asked.

"No. Not until I _also_ make a snow angel!" Aziraphale gleefully dropped to the ground and waved his arms and legs in the snow as Crowley stood a good distance away and pretended not to know him. "Come on, have some fun!"

"You of all people know that's not what angels look like!"

"Oh, what does that matter? It looks pretty." He stood up and turned to look at the shape he'd made. "It's so rare that I get to do this."

"Thank God," Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "There must be _something_ you enjoy about being out in the snow."

"Oh, there is." Aziraphale stiffened as Crowley's eyes took on that Look. The one that made his proverbial horns come out and show why he was a demon. The Look made people take one glance at Crowley and run the other direction without even understanding why.

"There is one thing I _absolutely_ love about being out in the snow," Crowley said. The Grinch-like grin on his face sent a chill through Aziraphale. "And that is…" He bent down to gather up some snow and straightened up, packing it in his hands.

"SNOWBALLS!" He threw it hard and Aziraphale ducked, but not quickly enough. Both he and Frosty were struck right in the face, and poor Frosty was beheaded in the process.

"Crowley! What'd you do that fo—" _Whap!_ Another one hit him and took Frosty's middle down too. "I'm serious! Stop—" _Whap!_ "Hitting" _Whap!_ "Me" _Whap!_ "Crowley!" _Whap! Whap! Whap!_ They came faster than he could dodge, Crowley laughing smugly.

"Look what you've done to poor Frosty," Aziraphale said mournfully, gathering up his hat and scarf to put them back on. "You even managed to mess up my snow angel." The shape was distorted and unrecognizable now that Frosty's remains had fallen into it.

"Well, you just make it so _easy_ ," Crowley said. "Come on, snowball fights are fun!"

"There is nothing fun about violence," Aziraphale said, feeling most indignant. He dug through the snow for Frosty's buttons and carrot to put in his pockets. "Violence, no matter how childish the manner, is always a form of hurtful behavior and therefore an expression of hurt and evil. And evil is something that a being of good can never abide by. In the end, it is always better to resist the temptation to harm another, even if said harm is meant in jest or in the good fun of a sporting game."

"Wow. Never thought of it like that. Was a really beautiful speech, Aziraphale."

"Oh, really?" He smiled and turned to face Crowley. "Thank—"

_Whap!_ An extra-strong snowball caught him right in the face.

"Ha HA!" Crowley pointed. "You are the most gullible idiot, I swear!"

Aziraphale furiously wiped the snow from his face. "Crowley, if you don't stop this foolishness right now—" _Whap!_ "I won't tolerate any" _Whap!_ Crowley stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry, laughing all the while.

"Agh!" Rubbing his eyes yet again to clear the snow, Aziraphale glared fiercely. "That's _it!_ " he yelled. "You asked for it!" He bent down to scoop up some snow and packed it as tightly as he could.

"About time!" Crowley cheered. He ran further up the mountain. "Catch me if you can, Angel!"

"Oh, I will. I _will._ " He made several more snowballs and took off after Crowley. The good thing about him wearing black and Aziraphale wearing white was that one of them would stand out while the other would blend in. The second he saw a hint of black, he threw one of the snowballs as hard as he could…at a stump.

"Looking for me?" Aziraphale didn't even have a chance to respond before two more snowballs hit him from behind and sent him to his knees. Crowley sauntered by, looking very pleased with himself.

"You!" Aziraphale couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so mad.

"Face it, Angel. An old fuddy-duddy like you can't possibly keep up with me."

"Old fuddy-duddy!" How _dare_ he! Aziraphale was most certainly not an "old fuddy-duddy." He'd show Crowley. He'd make him sorry he ever even considered starting this snowball fight.

"Come and get me!" Crowley raced off through the mountain and Aziraphale took off after him. At first he struggled to catch up to Crowley; the wily old thing had long legs and lighter clothing in addition to being in much better shape. Even worse, the wind was picking up quickly all of a sudden and it made running harder. However, an idea soon came to him.

Oh. Now _that_ could work. He could feel a Look of his own beginning to make its way onto his face.

"Oh dear! I'll never catch him," Aziraphale said loudly. He hurried to crouch behind a nearby boulder. As soon as he was hidden from view, he began to make snowballs. "That cheeky bastard is probably long gone and making more snowballs to smack me with right now, and there's not a thing I can do to stop him." He packed them hard and waited. Sure enough, he heard footsteps heading toward him.

This was his chance. Aziraphale gathered up as much snow as he could, packing it hard between his hands. _I'll show him,_ he thought with a smirk. _He'll be sorry he ever threw a snowball at me._

"Angel!" Crowley called. He sounded farther away. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

_Not until I have the perfect weapon._ And he almost did. A few more pats, and his snowball would have at least as much impact as that paintball from Tadfield. Maybe even more. Old fuddy-duddy, indeed.

"You can't hide forever!" he said.

He sounded far enough away that Aziraphale risked peeking around the boulder. Excellent. Crowley was standing close to the edge of the path, just the right distance to nail him with a snowball. He just had to turn around, and Aziraphale would have a perfect shot. He wound up his arm and pulled back the snowball as far as he could. By now it was as hard as any baseball. He inched around the rock until it was no longer blocking him.

_Careful now. Wait for it…he'll turn any second._

Scanning the path ahead of him and not seeing anything, Crowley shrugged and turned back toward the boulder.

"Ha!" Aziraphale stepped forward and threw the snowball with all his strength. He grinned as it _whapped!_ Crowley square in the chest, knocking off his sunglasses and yielding an "oomph!" that was sure to take the breath right out of him.

The triumph vanished as soon as it appeared.

The snowball knocked Crowley off his feet, and seconds too late, Aziraphale realized he'd misjudged the distance between the demon's feet and the edge of the mountain.

"Crowley!" he screamed. He rushed to his friend just in time to see him fall backwards, flip onto his side, and roll unstoppably fast down the mountain.

* * *

Aziraphale dropped to his knees and reached for Crowley, but long before his arms could get close, Crowley was rolling out of sight, screaming, covered in snow and picking up more as he rolled further and the winds grew faster. Calling his name frantically, Aziraphale got to his feet, unfurled his wings, and hurried down the mountain. The further down they went, the faster Crowley rolled, and the winds weren't helping. They pushed Aziraphale to the side and slowed him down while piling more snow on top of Crowley, who was trying to slow himself down to no avail. Every rock or tree he reached for either broke or slipped from his grasp. Every miracle he tried to perform was stopped by his head bumping another part of the ground and breaking his concentration.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale had never felt so helpless. He beat his wings furiously until they hurt, and attempted to miracle Crowley into the air. But he needed to focus on Crowley to do that, and he was moving too fast.

_Oh please, let him be all right._

The snow had gathered around Crowley at the bottom until it was practically trapping him. He disappeared from view. While he could go without air longer than a human could, he still wouldn't have long before his body would discorporate. Discorporating would mean an automatic return to Hell, and neither of them liked to think about what would happen if they ended up back in Hell. Or Heaven, for that matter.

"Help me!" was the last thing Aziraphale heard before the wind drowned Crowley's voice. A biting gust blew the angel backwards, making him turn somersaults in the air. He shut his eyes against the sting, and when he opened them, the entire world was white. Even the mountain was indistinguishable from the sky and the ground.

"CROWLEY!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, knowing full well it was useless. Even if Crowley was nearby, he would never hear anything over the blizzard that was forming fast. The wind was beating his wings, sending feathers whirling about every which way. Aziraphale decided flying would only make things harder. He pulled his wings back in and dropped to the ground, which barely hurt thanks to the deep blankets of snow.

_He's smart. He can conjure up fire if he wants to. He'll be fine._ He had to believe that, even though conjuring up fire wasn't working so well for himself at the moment. For every inch of snow he burned through, ten more inches took its place.

_Giving the mortals a flaming sword, how did that work out for you?_

Aziraphale groaned. That damn sword had haunted him from day one, and it would sure be handy right about now. Perhaps this was God's punishment for giving it away. For the first time, he wished he hadn't. Eve would have died anyway.

"Crowley won't die," he said to himself, shivering violently. "Nor will he discorporate. I won't let him. Crowley!" He could barely move through the storm, but did so anyway. Surely if he just kept moving down the mountain, they would find each other.

The storm seemed to go on forever. White had always been Aziraphale's favorite color, and now he never wanted to see it again. He wrapped his arms tightly against himself, pulling his scarf up almost to his eyes and squinting for any hint of black. Surely Crowley had stopped rolling by now? He had to be up and about, searching as hard for Aziraphale as Aziraphale was for him.

_How far does the mountain go?_ As fast as Crowley had been rolling, it was hard to believe it went much further, but Aziraphale had no way of knowing. If the distance was much more, the giant snowball gathering around Crowley would have buried him by the time he reached the bottom.

Snowball. Tears gathered in Aziraphale's eyes. "I'm so sorry," he said. None of this would be happening if he hadn't thrown the snowball and knocked Crowley over. If he _did_ discorporate and get killed by Hell, it would be all Aziraphale's fault.

"No," he said to himself, shaking his head as tears fell. "I won't let that happen." He stopped, closed his eyes, and focused. He was a supernatural being, dammit, and he was going to act like it. Deep inside him was a power thousands of years older than this bloody mountain, he just had to find a way to harness it.

_Burn the snow. End the storm. Burn the snow. End the storm._ He pictured the mountain in flames, choking cold white drifts melting into clear, cool water that flowed smoothly down to the grass below. He imagined the wind slowing to a gentle breeze like in St. James' Park, the clouds parting for a blue sky. Aziraphale fixed on these images and concentrated like he never had before, gritting his chattering teeth and tuning out the cold nipping at his frozen face. The winds stinging his cheeks. His slowly sinking feet. The roar in his ears.

_Burn the snow end the storm burn the snow end the storm burn the snow end the storm BURN THE SNOW END THE STORM._

He shouted it loud. "Burn the snow, end the storm!"

And so it was.

The piles trapping his feet released them as the snow became smooth, traveling water. The wind slowed and eased, the mountain and all of its flames became visible, and when Aziraphale looked up, he could see the smallest circle of blue sky.

He was shaking and exhausted. Such a large miracle involved ancient magic and enormous energy. Had he been in any other situation, he never would have dared. Angels who messed with Earth's environment landed themselves in big trouble. It weakened their celestial bodies, upset ecosystems, tipped the humans off, and some even considered it a Fall-worthy offense.

Aziraphale didn't give a damn. He was going to find Crowley if he had to burn up the entire planet.

Now that he could be heard again, he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted "Crowley!" as loud as he could, though his aching throat didn't manage to go as loud as he wanted. There was no answer.

Now the tears were streaming as fast as the water down the mountain. "Please be all right." Aziraphale used what little strength he had left to open his wings again and fly down the mountain, this time in much better conditions. He tried to focus on that familiar aura, demonic but still tinged with kindness and love. The aura that could only come from Crowley.

He began to feel something like that when he was more than halfway down the mountain. Flapping his wings harder, Aziraphale dove down and followed it. He scanned the ground and the patches of snow that were left, and tracked the aura all the way down to the very bottom. It was at its strongest right next to an enormous snowball, half the size of a tree. Aziraphale tore into it, pulling snow out and flinging it aside until finally, he felt something firm.

"Crowley! Oh, thank goodness, there you are." He clutched a familiar hand that was as freezing as the air around them and pulled on it, revealing an arm, a shoulder, and finally Crowley's face, which was frighteningly still and turning blue.

"Oh please, please, _please,_ don't be—you're still breathing." Aziraphale collapsed to his knees in relief at feeling the tiniest breath against the hand he'd placed over Crowley's lips. "All right. You're unconscious but you haven't been discorporated. Yet." He brushed the snow from Crowley's hair.

His glove came away drenched in red.

Aziraphale gasped and carefully lifted Crowley's head. Sure enough, he felt a bump beginning to rise, likely from the rocks littering the mountainside. His face was bruised and cut, and some of his fingers were bent at odd angles. In six thousand years, he had never been so still.

Taking deep breaths, Aziraphale held Crowley close and tried to stop shaking long enough to find the strength for one more miracle. He had to stop the fire, erase any human memories of it, and get them back to their cabin. The longer they stayed out here, the quicker their bodies would quit on them.

_Come on. One more. Stop the fire, bring back the snow, erase the memories, and get back to the cabin. Then Crowley will be all right._ He could barely keep his eyes open and his head kept nodding, with his body slumping and begging for sleep, something he'd never experienced before. The fire disappeared. Snow returned. He felt that somewhere, minds were being wiped clean.

_The cabin. The cabin. The cabin…_

There they were.

The warm, soft double beds had never looked so inviting, but there was no time for sleep now. When Aziraphale could stand, he quickly got to his feet and turned the heater up in the cabin to a toasty twenty-nine degrees Celsius. He hoped it would work fast; he was still shivering and Crowley was practically convulsing. With trembling fingers, Aziraphale started the water for a hot bath and scoured the cabin for anything warm. Bedsheets, blankets, hot pads, all of them went onto Crowley's bed. He wet a washcloth with hot water and draped it over Crowley's forehead while he went to work on his soaking wet clothes.

All of those layers that had been so comfortable before were a pain in the arse now. Just getting Crowley out of his boots and coat was a struggle, especially since he wasn't awake to help. By the time Aziraphale had stripped him of his coat, jacket, boots, socks, sweatpants, and sweater, the bath was almost full. When he reached the jeans and shirt, he hesitated.

_He needs to be warm. But is it really all right for me to strip him naked?_ They were close, but not that close. Aziraphale knew that if the situations had been reversed, he would have felt more than a little embarrassed.

Crowley shook violently and gave a pitiful moan. That settled it. Safety and health took priority over privacy. Crowley would just have to forgive him.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale whispered as he pulled Crowley's shirt over his arms and head and tossed it into the pile of sopping clothes he'd started at the other end of the bathroom. His heart fluttered just a bit at seeing his chest, though it was alarmingly blue. Deep down, part of him had always wanted to see Crowley naked. But not like this.

The jeans were the hardest of all. "Good lord, _why_ must you wear them so tight?" Aziraphale grumbled as he held Crowley still with one hand and tugged at the jeans with the other. It took several minutes, but he finally managed to get them off. The bath was full now, and he shut off the water.

"There. Now just…oh." He started to pull down Crowley's pants and blinked. He hadn't expected that. Not terribly unusual of course; human bodies came in all sorts, after all. But he'd always been under the impression that Crowley had, well, _other equipment._ Not that he thought about that. He didn't. Never.

Aziraphale hesitated, feeling even more like an intruder. What if Crowley didn't want anyone to know? What if he was angry and hurt when he woke up? Maybe he should just leave the pants on and pretend he never saw anything.

_Oh, who am I kidding? The shape is visible through the pants. He'd never believe me._ Aziraphale sighed and pulled the pants down. "Forgive me," he whispered. He took Crowley into his arms and lowered him into the steaming hot bath.

The effect was immediate. Crowley's shivering slowed and stopped, his skin began to regain its normal color, and he lay limp against the bathtub. Aziraphale re-wet the cloth on his forehead and replaced it. Then he retrieved the first aid kit from the medicine cabinet to bandage his head and clean up his face. He'd heal those and Crowley's fingers properly when he had the strength to perform miracles again. Only when he was sure Crowley was situated did he attend to his own damp clothing, which was a relief to dispose of. He changed into his warmest pajamas and fixed himself a hot cup of cocoa, which tasted so good going down his sore throat that he moaned loudly.

_What I wouldn't give for a long rest under the blankets,_ he thought, but shook the notion out of his head. Crowley was more important. His condition was Aziraphale's fault, after all, he remembered with an ache in his chest. He toweled off his hair and returned to the bathtub, where he heard a groan. Crowley was blinking awake, looking confused.

"What happened?" he mumbled. He shut his eyes. "Ow—shit, everything hurts."

"I'm sorry." Aziraphale knelt beside the tub, squeezing his bare shoulder. "I found you at the bottom of the mountain, and you'd been badly hurt. But don't worry, we'll have you fixed up in a jiffy."

"Aziraphale?" Crowley opened his eyes again and turned to face him. "Oh, right. We were on the mountain and then I was rolling down the side of it. That explains why my head is killing me."

"So sorry," Aziraphale said again. "I used up all of my energy for miracles on getting you out of there and back to the cabin. But as soon as I have it back, I'll heal you up right."

"No need. I'm sure I can fix it myself when I'm not so tired." Crowley sighed. "Water feels good."

"Mm. Sorry I had to—well, you know."

"Oh yeah. That." Crowley crossed his legs and settled his arms over his vulva, wincing at the movement. "Um. All right. No big deal. Ends justify the means and all that. But you don't look so good yourself."

"I'm fine. Let me get you some fresh clothes so you have something to sleep in." He stood up and searched Crowley's suitcase until he found a clean pair of pants, a pair of black plaid pajama trousers, and a soft cotton black shirt to go with it. He also reached into his own suitcase and grabbed two pairs of his fluffiest socks, sighing with relief as he put one of them on. He brought the clothes to the bathroom and set them on the toilet so they'd be within easy reach.

"These are here for you once you're ready," Aziraphale said, patting the clothes. "And I've got a heating pad and plenty of blankets for you too. I can also make you a cup of tea or some cocoa if you like."

"Thanks, Mum," Crowley said, but his smile was genuine. "Be out in a minute." Aziraphale nodded and left to give him some privacy, what little of it he had left anyway. He gathered up all of the sheets and blankets and spread them out on Crowley's bed. He plugged in the heating pad to charge it up. Aziraphale found himself shivering less and was grateful to see that the heater had kicked on and made the whole cabin cozy. He lay down on his own bed, and despite it having only one pillow and one sheet left, it felt so good that he gave a long, blissful sigh. His eyes closed and he was almost asleep when he heard Crowley's voice next to him.

"What are you doing, sleeping in a bed with no covers?"

"You need them more than I do," Aziraphale murmured.

"No, I don't. Come on." He tugged on his hand, and Aziraphale opened his eyes to see Crowley dressed in his pajamas, holding his head with one hand and pulling Aziraphale up with the other. From his pained expression, the injuries were still troubling him. Hopefully a good night's sleep would make miracles possible again.

"Don't be daft. That bed's big enough for both of us and we'll be warmer if we sleep close together."

Aziraphale smiled. The prospect would have been more exciting if he hadn't been so spent, but still it sounded lovely. "Thank you." He pulled himself up, turned off the lights in their cabin, and fell into bed with Crowley, who scooted close to him and carefully lay his head on the pillow, cringing all the while.

"I'll fix that tomorrow, I promise," Aziraphale said, touching it gently.

"Took a pain reliever, I'm sure that'll do the trick," Crowley said. He closed his eyes. Aziraphale pulled the blankets and heating pad up over them and put his arms around Crowley, breathing him in and reminding himself that the person he loved most in the universe was still here.

He would live another day.


	11. Healing

Long slants of sunlight pushing through the cabin blinds told Aziraphale they'd slept through the night and the morning too. He slowly stirred, trying to ignore the crick in his back that was still sore from pulling his wings in and out. His clothes and hair were sticking to his skin—he'd let the cabin get too warm and was sweating buckets. He didn't think he'd ever been thirstier.

"Need some breakfast and a cold shower," he mumbled through a yawn. "Right after I turn that heater down." He rolled over to climb out of bed and nearly bumped into Crowley. _Oh right, we shared last night._ He blushed a bit. Not that anything had happened; they'd both been so exhausted that they fell asleep immediately. Well, Crowley had. Aziraphale had tossed and turned, waking up at odd intervals. Crowley was still sleeping now, and he was sweating even more. Aziraphale pulled back the blankets, leaving only a thin sheet over him, and removed his socks. He didn't budge.

"Don't you sleep through another century on me," Aziraphale whispered, trying and failing to be lighthearted. He hoped Crowley would feel better when he woke up and forgive him for what he'd done, even though he didn't deserve it.

After ensuring Crowley was comfortable, Aziraphale turned down the heater and opened the blinds to give the cabin some cheer. The water bottle from their mini fridge had never tasted better; he downed the entire thing in a minute. He took a quick shower and changed into clean clothes, just a pair of lounge trousers and a comfortable T-shirt since he didn't think they'd be going anywhere. Crowley still seemed under the weather and Aziraphale wasn't about to leave him by himself in that condition. Instead, he cleaned the cabin, hung up their still-damp clothes in the shower to dry, and nibbled on the few snacks they had left. None of them were satisfying and he longed for a full meal.

"Honestly, what kind of lodging doesn't have room service?" he grumbled. To be fair, the snow piled up outside the door probably made food delivery difficult. He settled back into bed next to Crowley, watching him sleep. His face was flushed, and he was unnaturally still. For years, Crowley had taken to making himself comfortable on the bookshop couch and falling asleep there, either from the wine he drank or because he was fond of catnaps. Always, he wiggled and fidgeted, tossed and turned even in his deepest sleep. His body was a snake's, after all.

Aziraphale ran a finger through his hair, brushing the bandage underneath. "I'm sorry," he whispered again. He could never say it enough.

_Please, let him be all right._ The past night was the most he'd spoken to Her since that night in the bookshop. _Please._ He doubted She was listening, but something inside him was still clinging to the old belief that She was merciful and loving.

Aziraphale swallowed hard as he gazed at Crowley. He hadn't known what being loving truly meant until he'd met him. Crowley had been everything Aziraphale himself wanted to be: kind, caring, loyal, sweet. He went to great lengths to hide it, but it was there just the same.

_He'll be fine,_ Aziraphale told himself sternly. _He just needs some rest, and then he'll be fit as a fiddle. And he's not going to get any better by you hovering over him, so get busy._

Reluctantly, he reached for some books and tried to read. For hours, he kept glancing worriedly over to Crowley, who slept for hours and was quieter than Aziraphale could ever remember him being. Aziraphale began to wonder if he shouldn't call one of those emergency numbers the humans had. If it was a problem with his physical human body, maybe a doctor could fix it. Still, that did run a serious risk of blowing both of their covers, so he wanted to leave it as a last resort.

"Maybe I should wake him up to eat and drink something," he fretted. Going that long without food and water couldn't be good for him. "Maybe just for a few minutes." He started to reach his hand out when Crowley whimpered. His eyes opened, and they were glazed and unfocused.

_Poor thing, he looks awful._ Aziraphale could have cried at the sight.

"'m sore," Crowley whispered. "Everywhere."

"Still?" Aziraphale felt cold again. Was it normal for an injury to hurt for this long? "Here, let me get you some water." He hurried to the kitchen to fill a tall glass of ice water.

"Please, try to drink just a little bit," he said when Crowley attempted to push it away. "Hydration could help you feel better." That encouragement seemed to do the trick. Crowley managed to swallow half of it before his lips closed and he fell back against the pillow in exhaustion.

"Good, very good. You'll feel better soon." Aziraphale had never felt more like a liar and couldn't remember feeling this scared even during Armageddon. Crowley should be getting better. He wasn't shivering at least, that was something. But he had never seemed so helpless, and even Aziraphale's attempts at miracling him well didn't seem to be doing much. His strength still hadn't fully returned.

_He'll be better tomorrow,_ Aziraphale told himself. _He has to be._ Surely a good night's sleep was all Crowley needed, and he'd start feeling like his old self again. Yes, he'd sleep and Aziraphale would make him a good healthy breakfast and they'd take it nice and easy in the morning and everything would be okay.

All the same, he wasn't taking any chances.

After refilling the glass of water, Aziraphale took the pillows from his own bed and set them on the floor next to Crowley. Hopefully he wouldn't be foolish enough to get out of bed, but if he did, at least these pillows would cushion his fall. Then he settled into Crowley's bed next to him.

"I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you," he whispered, stroking his hand. If he had, it would have been all his fault. As an angel, he should have known better than to respond to Crowley's teasing with revenge. The least he could do now was try his best to take care of him and call a human doctor if things got really desperate.

Aziraphale began thinking aloud to calm himself. "I'll try to miracle him well again tomorrow morning, and fix him something to eat too. Right now, the best medicine is probably sleep. If nothing changes, I'll start making phone calls. Maybe I can use the interweb thingy on Crowley's phone to look up head injuries and the right medicines for them."

The only answer was Crowley's long, deep breaths.

"You poor dear," he said, and he could have kicked himself. Not only was it his fault this had happened, it was his fault that it hadn't been fixed. As soon as Crowley woke up in the morning, Aziraphale would heal him completely even if it zapped every last ounce of his strength. He hadn't tried hard enough, but he would redeem himself somehow.

Closing his eyes, he silently ran through every holy prayer and chant he knew to build up his powers. He prayed, blessed, replayed the lyrics to psalms and hymns. He got down on his knees and stayed there for hours even as they began to hurt. In childish desperation, he even dug out Harry the Rabbit from the suitcase and hugged him before tucking him into the crook of Crowley's arm for a little extra comfort.

Suddenly he needed to hear his voice and know he was okay. "Crowley, can you hear me?" He shook him gently, but it was no good. Crowley had either fallen unconscious or into a very deep sleep. Aziraphale sighed. His hands were trembling.

Crowley could have died because of him. He had been pushed down to the bottom of the mountain in immense pain and left to suffer in the cold because of him. The thought made him start to whimper, but he choked it back and shook his head. There was no time for silly emotions. Crowley needed him. It was Aziraphale's responsibility to take care of him until he was completely recovered and hope he didn't hate him when that time came.

He settled into bed and wrapped his arms around Crowley's waist, pulling him close. One way or another, he would keep him safe. He would stay up all night if he had to.

* * *

_Mm, big sleep just now. Wonder what time it is. Better check my phone._ Crowley started to open his eyes. _Agh, so heavy._ He waited a moment to gather his strength, then pushed them open.

He was greeted by the face of none other than Harry the Rabbit.

_The deuce are you doing here?_ He thought with amusement. His muscles still ached as he tried to push himself up, and his head felt like it weighed a ton. Aziraphale was lying close to him, struggling to keep his eyes open. He looked awfully tired. His body emanated warmth and Crowley wanted to snuggle into him, so cozy was their bed. Trouble was, he had no idea if he'd be welcome.

Crowley had thought he'd known Aziraphale better than anyone, and yet only a week or so ago, he'd learned he wasn't even a virgin. He sighed, trying not to think too much about that. The one comfort he'd had regarding his lack of experience had been the assumption that Aziraphale didn't have any either. Now that comfort was gone. Worse, Aziraphale had seen the bit between his legs. He knew. And Crowley had no idea what he thought about what he knew. 

Aziraphale stirred. Seeing Crowley awake, he quickly asked, "Are you all right?"

"What? Yeah, I'm okay. Head still feels heavy and I don't have much energy, but other than that, I feel a lot better."

Aziraphale let out a breath. "Thank goodness." He stroked his hand. "But I'll take care of you as long as you need." Crowley thought he heard a slight crack in his voice.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You sound a little upset."

"Oh no, no, I'm not upset. Just a tad tired, that's all. I haven't slept much since we got here; I was up half the night worrying—but then, that's nothing you need to be concerned about. Remember, I'm the one watching over you!"

"How about we both get some sleep?" he asked, though he wasn't as tired himself. "Sleep is the best medicine, after all."

"Ah yes, jolly good." He sounded relieved. The bed shifted under Crowley as he lay down and scooted close. His body heat was coming off of him practically in waves. Crowley lay still until he heard the sound of regular breathing, then scooted closer. He was feeling an overwhelming urge to be close to him.

His scent was a nice one, cocoa and books with a faint trace of cologne that hadn't been worn in a few days. Some sweat too, the nervous kind. It made Crowley's whole body relax. He wanted more.

He waited to see if Aziraphale had noticed. His breathing was the same and he hadn't moved. Maybe it was okay to get just a little closer. He inched further.

And further. 

And further.

Before he knew it, Crowley was nearly nose to nose with him. He started to close his eyes when Aziraphale said, "Are you cold, love?" He stopped, mortified.

_Shit._

When he could finally speak, he said, "Um. I, uh, sorry. It's not—I mean—oh, never mind." He rolled over. Shit, what the heaven had he been thinking? Aziraphale would probably push him away. Maybe file a restraining order.

"It's all right. We can huddle together for warmth if you need it."

_Is_ that _what he thinks I'm doing?_

He pulled Crowley into his arms and held him from behind. His arms settled over Crowley's stomach and rested there protectively, bringing them closer than they'd ever been. Hardly daring to believe his luck, Crowley sighed in bliss. He would never tire of that scent and those arms. If only they could do this every morning.

To his surprise, Aziraphale seemed to relax more too. He giggled when Crowley's hair brushed his nose, saying it tickled, but for the most part, he was more receptive than Crowley could have imagined. He had to resist the impulse to kiss those hands.

Yet he would never cross that line. He valued their friendship far too much for that. For now, it was enough just to to rest in his arms.

* * *

"Are you feeling better, Crowley?"

"Here you go, Crowley, some music to help pass the time. Just tell me what song you'd like to listen to and I'll find it for you."

"Oh, don't get up! There's a mess on the floor. Let me clean it up first and then take your hand."

"How are you feeling?"

"There's no need to grope about the bed like that, I can bring you whatever you need. What are you looking for?"

"Don't rub your head up against the pillow like that, you'll ruin the bandages!"

"Feeling better yet?"

By evening, Crowley was ready to scream.

Aziraphale had a very sweet, soft, and gentle nature with a calming effect, but even the best sort of person could grate on your nerves when they constantly fussed over you every second. Always he wanted to know if Crowley needed something, if he needed more of something, if he needed less of something. At the moment, the only thing Crowley _really_ needed was to shout at him to back off.

Too bad that little nuisance he called a conscience wouldn't let him. Deep down, he knew the old sod was only trying to be helpful and just doing a piss-poor job at it. But as he lay in bed with little to do but listen to music and think, he had an idea:

He would get Aziraphale to lay off without being mean about it by making just a _slight_ joke about all the fussing. Maybe when they woke up the next morning, he would say something to the effect of "I feel completely healed now, so you don't need to do x, y, and z for me anymore!" Aziraphale was smart, he would get it, and hopefully not be hurt by it. The tone of voice Crowley used could make it seem like a cheerful thing.

Yeah, that would be perfect. Satisfied with this plan, Crowley yawned and stretched, pretending to be more tired than he was so Aziraphale would think he was trying to sleep and stay quiet. Better yet, maybe he'd find something to do, like read a book. Fortunately, it wasn't hard to sleep since he tired a lot quicker after what had happened.

"Going to sleep, dear?"

"Mm."

"Ah, okay. Are you feeling better?"

_For the hundredth, millionth time—_ "Yeah, much better."

"I'm so relieved," Aziraphale whispered. Crowley raised an eyebrow at his tone. He didn't sound too good. "I've been worried sick." He immediately brightened, throwing in a cheeriness that Crowley could tell he didn't feel. "But it's all right now. You'll get a good night's sleep, and everything will be okay."

_You trying to convince me or yourself?_ Crowley decided it was best to just let it be for now. He said good night and settled into bed, reveling in the peace and quiet.

For about an hour, the cabin was silent except for the sounds of the icy winds outside. Crowley was warm and content in his thoughts and the cozy blanket. He was almost asleep when he felt fingers in his hair. Had he not been almost paralyzed with sleepiness, he would have jumped.

"I'm sorry." He could barely hear Aziraphale's voice, but it was there, wavering. "So sorry."

_Sorry? What is he sorry for?_ Maybe for all the fussing, but then why wouldn't he apologize for that when Crowley was awake?

Whatever. They'd sort it all out in the morning. Right now, his body craved a rest.

* * *

The next morning was the first time since before the accident that Crowley could move about with no aches or pains. He smiled as he yawned and stretched, removing the bandage from his head. Everything felt right again.

"I hear you're awake." Aziraphale's voice came from the kitchen.

This was it. Crowley would need to be careful with his tone, but if he did it right, he'd be able to send the message that Aziraphale needed to stop being such a mother hen. He'd just wait for him to come back and—

"Holy shit."

"What?" Aziraphale squeaked, grabbing his shoulders. "What is it? Are you hurt? Are you sick? Crowley, what's wrong?" When he didn't answer, Aziraphale tightened his grip and shook his head. "Crowley, please, I'm so sorry, but I promise, whatever it is, I'll do everything I can to make it better, just tell me what's the matter so I know how bad it is and then I'll—"

"What the heaven happened to you?"

"Wha—I beg your pardon?"

"Aziraphale." Crowley shook his head, hardly daring to believe what he saw.

Aziraphale must have been up all night. His eyes were more red than white with long dark circles dragging them down. His hair was an oily mess that hadn't been groomed in days and it looked thinner than Crowley remembered, as if some had fallen out. His clothes were dirty and smelled a bit, his teeth yellow and unbrushed, and his body had the look of losing ten pounds and aging ten years in a short time.

"You haven't slept. Or eaten. Or bathed."

"Well, of course not! Why would I do that?"

Crowley's prepared lines were stuck in his throat. Aziraphale had been devoted to taking care of him to the point of neglecting himself. And here Crowley had been about to tell him off for doing it. Even a demon like him couldn't be that heartless.

Without fully knowing why, Crowley reached out to touch his chest. His heart pulsed furiously under Crowley's fingertips and his whole body seemed to tremble, swaying slightly from side to side. He was cold and sweaty.

"Aziraphale…" Crowley had never seen him like this. Not during one of their fights. Not during Armageddon. Not when he thought he'd lost his bookshop. Never.

* * *

_He's all right. He's alive._ Those were the only thoughts Aziraphale was capable of processing. Crowley was here. He had recovered after all.

His legs nearly buckled out from under him in sheer relief.

All last night and much of the night before, he had tossed and turned, fretted and prayed, not daring to think about the possibility that scared him the most. _Focus on Crowley._ That was all that mattered. He had to help him, take care of him, make sure he had everything he needed to get better. It was the least he could do after almost killing him.

Crowley's hand was on his chest. He seemed fearful, had Aziraphale done something wrong? 

_Damn you,_ he thought to himself. _Why are you such an idiot?_

"Are you all right?" Crowley asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Aziraphale was startled. "What are you worried about me for? It's you that was in danger." Wasn't that just like Crowley? Thinking of him when he should have been thinking of himself.

"Yeah, but you don't look so good." He patted the bed next to him. "Come on, you should sit down."

"If you insist, but really, I'm fine." He wobbled over to the bed and sat, the dizziness in his head easing up just a little.

What if he decided he never wanted to talk to Aziraphale again? It would serve him right if that was the case. Crowley deserved so much better. Preferably from someone who wouldn't almost kill him out of sheer incompetence and a misplaced desire for revenge.

"Can't believe how much we both went through just because of a snowball fight."

Aziraphale couldn't speak. His throat was too tight. He nodded.

"I take one to the chest—that was some good aim, by the way—and next thing I know, I'm falling all the way down—Aziraphale?"

He couldn't keep them back any longer. His body shook uncontrollably and he buried his face in his hands, closing his eyes to avoid Crowley's.

"Aziraphale, what…hey, what's wrong?"

When he could get out a word, he whispered, "I-I-I'm so sorry, Crowley."

"Sorry? For what?"

_He's pretending not to know for my sake._ Crowley was so much more than a demon, or even an angel. He was something higher than both.

"It's all my fault," Aziraphale sobbed. "You could have discorporated and died, and it would have been all my fault." His hands were getting soaked through. He struggled to breathe.

"What—hey, hey, that's not true. Come on, Aziraphale." Crowley put a hand on his shoulder, but Aziraphale pulled away. "It's not your fault. You didn't mean to hurt me. I was being an arse to you and you were just returning the favor. If anything, I should be apologizing to you."

"I ruined everything!" He could barely see or even hold his head up.

_You always ruin everything. If it weren't for you, War wouldn't have gotten the sword. If it weren't for you, your friendship with Crowley could have started sooner. And if it weren't for you, Crowley would never have been hurt._

All he did was make things worse.

"I threw the snowball, and because of me, you were almost killed!" Crowley kept trying to pull him close and Aziraphale kept pulling away. Couldn't he see he didn't deserve the comfort? "I'm the reason you fell down the mountain, and you could have been discorporated and sent back to Hell and they would have figured out what we did and destroyed you forever and you'd have never been able to enjoy Earth again and—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Aziraphale." Crowley forcefully wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and held him to his chest, where he cried into his heart. "Hey. Don't be so hard on yourself. It was an accident." Aziraphale shook his head. "Yes, it _was_. I know you would never have done that on purpose, and besides, it's okay now. I feel much better and my head doesn't hurt anymore."

He must have thought that would do the trick because he sounded nervous when Aziraphale only cried harder, gasping for air and clutching Crowley's shirt. "Aziraphale, really. I mean it. I don't blame you at all. Never did. It was just an—Aziraphale, please don't cry. It's okay…I'm okay…don't cry…"

He had no idea that it was impossible for Aziraphale to stop crying, and not just because he'd almost lost Crowley but because he'd almost _missed_ him. He'd come so close to missing his chance to tell him how much he _loved_ him more than his body could contain. Crowley would have died without ever knowing how special he was, how much he meant to Aziraphale. How much he wanted him and needed him and how happy he made him. And for what? Because Aziraphale had been such a great, stupid, _fool_ that he had been too afraid to tell him. He had always put it off because he thought they had all the time in the world to be together even though he should have known after Armageddon that wasn't the case. He had been waiting for Crowley to make a move first because he was a damn selfish coward, just like John said. And because of that, he had almost lost his chance forever.

Crowley, of course, knew none of this. When Aziraphale clung to him for dear life and said "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over again, he thought it was about the snowball.

"Don't worry. You have nothing to be sorry for. Really, it's all fine."

But it wasn't fine. It would never be fine until Aziraphale told him how he really felt. Not that he was in any position to be wanting anything from Crowley, but he would try to make it up to him. From now on, he would be better. He would treat Crowley the way that someone as special and forgiving as him deserved.

"Listen," Crowley said. He was also breathing heavily. Aziraphale lifted his head enough to show he was listening. That gentle hand in his hair felt so good. "You're exhausted and you desperately need a bath and I imagine you're hungry too. Let's get you cleaned up, fed, and into bed. That'll make you feel much better."

Aziraphale gave him a weak smile. "So you're going to take care of me now?"

"A bit. Just enough to get you acting like your old self again." He patted Aziraphale's back. "Come on. Let's start with the bath. I'll fix you something to eat while you're in there, and then you can go right to sleep."

"Why are you so good to me?"

Crowley was quiet for a few seconds. "Everybody deserves a second chance," he said. His voice made Aziraphale look up. "No one should be punished forever for one mistake. Know what I mean?"

"Crowley…" Aziraphale cupped his face. "Are you crying too?"

"No." Crowley shook his head. The tremor in his voice was gone. "Demons don't do that. I don't cry, Angel. Not ever."

Aziraphale doubted this, but was too worn out to fight it. Instead he rested his head on Crowley's shoulder with love, and allowed himself to be loved in return.


	12. Back to the Garden

As soon as both of them were feeling better, Aziraphale wasted no time in asking, "Do you mind if we leave this place and go somewhere a bit more hospitable?" He couldn't bear the cold and snow any longer. All it did was remind him of what had come so close to happening.

"Thought you'd never ask," Crowley said. "I say we go someplace warm with some plant life."

"But you hated camping," Aziraphale pointed out.

"And I still do. Last night I thought of something better than that." He grabbed his phone and showed Aziraphale some pictures of a gorgeous green landscape bursting with life. "There's a botanical garden just outside of Paris. I'd like to see that if you're up for it."

As if Aziraphale wouldn't have been willing to go anywhere Crowley wanted. "Of course. Let's leave today."

* * *

Driving from southern Spain to the outskirts of Paris took three days, but it was well worth it. Before they even crossed the entrance, Aziraphale was breathless at the garden. Entire rainbows of flowers dotted the green path, all in full bloom and swaying gently in the breeze. An apple orchard stood further down, with a redness and freshness Aziraphale couldn't remember seeing since Eden. Bees and butterflies happily visited each flower. Birds sang in the fountain. The area had just the right amount of human touch. Enough to keep everything neat and growing with signs to tell you what you were looking at while letting the garden keep its natural beauty. The place looked _just_ disorganized enough that one could think it had sprung into creation like this.

"Quite a nice change from the mountain, isn't it?" he asked, but Crowley wasn't listening. He was even more in awe of the garden than Aziraphale was, tucking away his sunglasses so he could take it in unfiltered. They passed under the vine-covered archway and he walked slowly beside each plant and flower, occasionally stopping to (literally) smell the roses. Their fragrance was all over the garden, mixing with the apples to create a relaxing aroma that reminded Aziraphale of their time in the spa. Only this was better because it was subtler.

A buzzing bumblebee darted by them and came to rest inside the flower, where it crawled deeper into the center and set to work. Crowley was fascinated, and he leaned in to get a better look.

"Don't get stung now," Aziraphale said teasingly. As if any life-loving creature would dare sting a demon.

"I wonder if my houseplants could do with some bees," Crowley said. He watched it finish its work and fly off. "Pollination's supposed to be good for plant life."

"I'm sure it can't hurt them," Aziraphale said. He found he couldn't take his eyes off Crowley's face the further they got into the garden. It was like back at the planetarium, but without the anger and agitation. Now Crowley seemed…was it hopeful? Inspired? Happy, for certain. Peaceful too. The small, content smile on his face was one Aziraphale wanted etched into his memory for eternity.

The farther they went, the taller the plants and bushes became. Squirrels scaled the trees, chipmunks chattered, and both of them grinned as a dark snake slithered under a hibiscus bush. Crowley hissed at it, tongue darting in and out. The snake recoiled in surprise, hissing back. The few humans around them exchanged looks and hurriedly moved away.

"Interesting conversation?" Aziraphale asked.

"Nah, just messing with the little bugger," Crowley said. He stopped. "Is that an oleander?" He took a few steps and grinned. "It is! Come on." He grabbed Aziraphale's hand and pulled him forward, making the angel's heart race. Crowley's hand was warmer than he'd expected. Softer too.

 _Silly thing, you've already shared a bed and hugged, why should holding his hand be so dizzying?_ Yet it was. When Crowley was injured, Aziraphale had limited himself to squeezing his shoulder, patting his back, maybe stroking his arm or hair if he felt daring. Those were all safe. Handholding felt too intimate.

Now he never wanted to stop.

He barely heard Crowley as he chattered on about how he loved oleanders and had always wanted one, but they were outdoor plants that needed a big yard and wouldn't work in his flat. Aziraphale had to force himself to take his eyes from their hands to look at the purple flowers blossoming from the thick greenery in front of them. Beautiful as they were, they couldn't compare to Crowley. Especially not now, as his eyes lit up and his whole face was beaming brighter than the sun.

"They give you hope, you know?"

Aziraphale shook himself out of his stupor. "Sorry, what?"

"I said they give you hope." He pointed to the flowers. "An oleander is the kind of plant that has its flowers fall off every afternoon. But in the morning, it has brand new ones again. It's like every day, it has a chance to start over. To make something else."

Aziraphale risked giving his hand a squeeze, making his own arm tingle. "That's why you love the garden, isn't it? Why you love plants in general?"

Crowley kept his eyes to the plant but gave the tiniest of nods. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Humans made this garden. They're destroying forests and oceans and each other, but they made this garden." He fingered one of the flowers. "It's like…a few seeds, some water, and sunlight, and even a destructive creature can make something cool."

Aziraphale swallowed his tears and smiled. Crowley still hadn't taken his hand away and Aziraphale held it tighter. "We'll get you a garden, love. With an oleander and much more besides."

"We will?" Crowley turned to face him. "How?"

"Trust me," he said. "You'll have the most beautiful garden in London." He would make sure of it. Somehow, he would find a way to give Crowley the space to grow anything he liked.

Aziraphale was so caught up in this thought that he barely noticed the rest of the garden. They came to a clearing where visitors were stopping to eat picnic lunches, throw frisbees, and walk their dogs. Flowers and apple trees were everywhere, the temperature was just right, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

"What a pretty place," he said. "I do love apple orchards. They're the perfect spot for a good book."

Crowley snorted. "You're the only person I know who judges a place by its readability. It is beautiful though." He turned his head toward the sun. "Good place to sit and rest for a bit when your feet get tired from all the walking."

"Is that your way of saying you'd like to stop for a while?"

"Just for a little bit." He turned to Aziraphale. "Care to find us a spot?"

"With pleasure." He scouted the area until he found one.

"Right there." He pointed to the soft grass under the branches of a willow tree, half in shade and half in the sun. "That would be the perfect place to sit and read my book. Pity I didn't bring one with me."

"You don't have to," Crowley said, and that familiar _whoosh_ tickled Aziraphale's ear as one of his favorite books appeared in Crowley's hand.

"Oh, you dear," he smiled, taking it. "But I don't want to keep you from exploring the rest of the garden. Perhaps we should plan to meet somewhere in a few hours?"

Crowley studied the tree. "Actually," he said, taking a seat underneath it. "This looks like a nice place to take a nap. Think I'll do that while you read."

"Head still troubling you?" Aziraphale frowned, instinctively touching a hand to Crowley's forehead.

He batted it away gently. "No, no, I'm all right. Just feeling the need for sleep a bit more than usual. You gotta admit, this place has that effect."

"Quite so." Aziraphale made himself comfortable under the tree, rested his back against the bark, and opened his book. Crowley started to lie down, and then, to Aziraphale's surprise, laid his head in the angel's lap.

"Hope you don't mind. It's more comfortable than the grass." He sounded nervous.

Aziraphale put a hand on his shoulder. "No, my dear, not at all." Crowley sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. The breeze picked up and blew strands of hair over his eyes and Aziraphale brushed them back. That seemed to relax Crowley even more. He slowly ran his fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft and silky it was. When he didn't protest, Aziraphale did it again. And again. Even after he was sure Crowley was asleep, he kept going, stopping only to turn the pages of his book. All around them the garden was quiet, with a bird here and a squirrel there the only noises around them. The sun warmed their feet.

In six thousand years, Aziraphale had never felt happier. He had thought when he'd first opened his bookshop, that he'd achieved peak contentment. Organizing books and being surrounded by them brought him more joy than anything else, and now he had a place to put them all in a building that was set up exactly the way he wanted. Comfy furniture, cozy lighting that didn't blind you like Heaven's did, a desk for his documents, and a place to store his wine. That joy returned whenever he closed up the shop and settled into his armchair with a cup of cocoa to read.

This, however…this was something else. Something Aziraphale never wanted to end. He set his book aside and stroked Crowley's cheek with his free hand.

"I love you." He exhaled, feeling lighter than he had since they'd stopped Armageddon, even if Crowley wasn't awake to hear it. There was no denying it anymore.

He was in love.

Desperately, achingly, longingly in love, and falling more in love every day. So much so that even though the two of them had spent centuries apart before, the thought of going back to his bookshop alone and watching Crowley drive off to a flat made him want to cry.

 _How long can I delay that?_ he wondered. They were enjoying their time away, but it couldn't last forever. Sooner or later, they always ended up back in London. Would he be able to tell Crowley how he felt before then? Better yet, _should_ he? He knew Crowley cared for him, but how much? In what way? Did he even deserve Crowley after everything he'd done?

Aziraphale had to be careful. If he messed this up, if he scared Crowley away by coming on too strong, he'd be entirely alone. Yet he had learned from this incident that there was also danger in putting it off. He had to move things forward, and soon.

And he decided, right then, that he would.


	13. Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word of caution: this chapter is going to be a bit more adult than previous ones. And there will be more adult stuff coming in future chapters.

Crowley's rumbling stomach woke him long before Aziraphale did. He opened his eyes to a beautiful sunset in a pink sky, with the garden mostly deserted as humans made their way back to the entrance.

"Agh," he yawned, stretching his arms. He winced as his belly let out another long growl. "That was a good sleep. Feel refreshed. Now I just need a bite to eat."

"I thought so," Aziraphale said. "I picked these for us while you were asleep." He leaned over and grabbed an apple sitting next to him. "They're quite juicy, and perfectly in season."

"Mm, thanks." Crowley sat up and bit into it, closing his eyes to better enjoy the sweet, fresh taste. The skin was the reddest he'd ever seen, not a bruise or brown spot to be found. "You know what this reminds me of," he said. "The apple from the Garden."

"You mean the tool of lies and destruction that you shamelessly employed to bring about the fall of humanity and instigate revolution against a higher power, thereby condemning living creatures to death for all time?"

"Yeah, that one," he grinned, taking another big bite. He shook his head. "Never thought I'd be the one saying it instead of you, but it really has been too long since we've had a proper meal."

"I agree wholeheartedly." Aziraphale closed his book and tucked it under his arm. "Shall we set out for the nearest restaurant?"

"Yeah, just let me find it." Crowley pulled his phone from his pocket and searched for nearby eateries. "Oh, here we go!" He pointed to the screen and Aziraphale leaned over to look at it. "There's a 24-hour diner in the next town, only twenty minutes from here. And we avoid the Paris traffic."

"Sounds delightful," Aziraphale said. Crowley locked his phone and started to put it away when he noticed the angel staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He seemed so peaceful, his eyes looking just like they did when he was reading in bed.

"You all right?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale smiled, turning Crowley's insides to jelly.

"My dear, I've never been better."

* * *

A few miracles and pedal-to-the-metal speeding turned the twenty-minute drive into a ten-minute drive, and Crowley was soon leading them both into Devan's Diner. The old-fashioned place had booths and counter seats, a checkered floor, and pictures of the family members who'd owned it all over the walls.

"Sit anywhere you like, I'll be right with you!" a woman's voice hollered from the kitchen. Crowley slid into a booth and scanned the menu, which was twelve pages long. He smirked. Any minute now, Aziraphale was going to look at it and say—

"Oh my goodness, so many wonderful choices!" _Annnd, there it is._ "How am I ever going to choose?"

"Start with what you don't want and then narrow it down." Crowley flipped through the pages quickly and set the menu aside. He knew exactly what he wanted: breakfast for dinner with pie for dessert; _every_ diner had good pie. Crowley had invented the concept of breakfast for dinner many years ago in hopes of starting a chaotic revolution that would overturn cuisine as humans knew it, but then it became a Thing and now restaurants were offering breakfast for dinner _and_ dinner for dinner. He couldn't decide whether to be happy about that or pissed.

"Hello there, welcome to Devan's Diner." A perky server had arrived at their table, clicking her pen. "My name is Mable, and I'll be taking care of you this evening. Can I get you started with some drinks?"

"Bloody Mary, please," Crowley said, as politely as he could. The way he'd acted at the restaurant in London still made him feel bad.

"Bloody Mary. And for you, sir?"

"Just a glass of water, thank you," Aziraphale told her. When she left, he leaned back against the booth and sighed happily. "It's been too long since we've been at a proper restaurant together, though I suppose you were eager to get away from it."

"For a while, yeah, but the break makes me appreciate it more too." Crowley propped his head in his chin. "It almost makes me feel like we're back in London. Part of me thinks we're about to head to the bookshop after this."

Aziraphale looked down at the table, a little sadly. "Yes. Much as I've enjoyed this trip, I do miss my bookshop."

_But you have me,_ Crowley thought, trying not to feel hurt. He knew what Aziraphale's bookshop meant to him, but hated the reminder that he came second. "Really? Even with all of the books you've bought?" The poor Bentley was packed full of them. Crowley mourned for it every time they had to load up the car to go somewhere new.

"Well, it's not so much the books, although I do miss those too. It's more that I miss, well, having a reliable place to go home to at the end of the night." He shrugged his shoulders. "Out here, we always have to hope that there's a hotel nearby. Right now, for example, who knows if there's any place close by where we can stay tonight?"

Crowley was about to reply when Mable set their drinks in front of them. "Bloody Mary and a glass of water," she said cheerfully. "And did I hear you folks say you're looking for a place to stay tonight?"

"Why, yes," Aziraphale said, putting on his friendly face. "Do you know of something?"

"One of our regulars owns a bed and breakfast on a farm about fourteen miles from here. It's a real nice place, and last I heard, she has plenty of room. I'm happy to give you directions."

"Thanks," Crowley said. He'd never stayed in a bed and breakfast before, always preferring the swanky hotels in the center of cities. It sounded exactly like the kind of thing Aziraphale would enjoy though, and that was what mattered.

After they ordered their meals (Aziraphale surprised Crowley by ordering cinnamon roll pancakes, saying he was feeling extra adventurous and would have both breakfast _and_ dessert for dinner), Crowley began googling it. Beverly's Bed & Breakfast was indeed on a farm, and just down the road from Devan's Diner. Wasn't bad price-wise either.

"Well, we've gone from the big city to the beach to the woods to the big city again to the mountains and now the country," Aziraphale recounted. "I daresay we've covered a lot of ground in a short time."

"And a lot of lodging too," Crowley said. "Beach resort, camping, hotel, mountain cabin, bed and breakfast." _And we always shared a room,_ he thought but didn't dare say. And they'd be doing it again tonight, this time in a much homier place. His heart sped up and he hoped he wasn't blushing. He needed to find something to take his mind off of this.

"Here, I'll go ahead and get us reservations so they can have the room ready when we get there." He pressed the call button on the website, and by the time he'd finished and hung up, their food had arrived.

"Ah," Aziraphale sniffed the aroma in bliss. "There's nothing like the sweet smell of cinnamon."

"Sure there is. The sweet smell of waffles, chicken, and pie." Crowley dug into all three, closing his eyes to enjoy the fluffy mixing with the sweet and savory. Aziraphale had ordered pie too, as they both thought it one of the best desserts and were always arguing over which flavor was best. Crowley loved chocolate and apple; Aziraphale loved cherry and blueberry.

They ate in comfortable silence. Despite the nap he'd had earlier, Crowley felt sleepy once he'd finished. Having a full stomach made him want to lie down under a soft blanket and listen to the angel turn the pages of a book. His eyes were already starting to droop.

"Do you mind terribly if we take that to go?" he asked, nodding at the slices of pie on Aziraphale's side of the table. He really could win a world record for being the slowest eater.

"Not at all," he said. In a few minutes, they had paid their bill, gotten directions from Mable, and were on their way to their new home for the night. The country roads twisted and turned. Crowley actually drove the speed limit this time for fear of hitting any deer that might decide to dart out of the woods. They soon recognized the bed and breakfast by its barn and windmill.

"Pity we're arriving at night," Aziraphale said once they'd parked. "I should like to see the animals and farmland."

"You'll see it all tomorrow," Crowley said. He grabbed their suitcases and got them checked in. That drive had made him even more tired, and he had rarely been so happy to arrive at their room. He thought he might fall asleep before they opened the door.

What they saw when they opened it woke him right up.

"Oh. Um. This is…unexpected," Aziraphale said, smiling nervously.

Crowley swallowed. "That's putting it mildly."

There was only one bed.

_Fuck._

Crowley could already feel his legs closing. What if Aziraphale thought he had done this on purpose? He'd told the owner he wanted one room for two people, and he'd assumed that meant two beds. Every other hotel had that setup, after all. What if Aziraphale believed he'd arranged to have only one bed on purpose in hopes that they would…and then if Crowley said no, he might be hurt. He wrapped his arms around himself. There was no use thinking like this. The angel had said many times that he couldn't be with a demon.

"I—I suppose I can take the floor if you want. Or maybe I can squeeze onto that couch." "Couch" was being generous. It was more like a love seat since it only had two cushions.

"No, no. I'm sure this is a misunderstanding. Perhaps we can go down and request a room with two beds. Or, if need be, request separate rooms altogether."

Crowley thought he might tear up at that last part. Even after all this time, Aziraphale still wanted separate rooms. Suddenly he was exhausted. "You do what you like, Angel," he said quietly. "All I know is I'm tired and I'm going to bed." He set down his suitcase and miracled himself into pajamas before falling onto the soft bed. His eyes closed, his body relaxed, and the last thing he felt was someone pulling the covers over him before he fell asleep.

* * *

In spite of his exhaustion, Crowley woke up not much later. He was surprised to see Aziraphale sleeping beside him. He didn't know what was more surprising, actually: that Aziraphale was sleeping when he usually preferred to stay awake and read or that he was sleeping beside Crowley in the same bed.

This didn't seem real. Crowley had dreamed about them in bed together and now it just—happened. By accident, even. How big were the chances of it turning into something? What if one thing led to another and—right on cue, Crowley's legs closed. He sighed.

A strange subconscious quirk, but it always seemed to happen when he thought about intercourse, no matter the kind. For the first couple million years, he hadn't thought much about it at all. Sex and sexual behavior were a mortal thing, the stuff they had to do to ensure the survival of their species just like eating and drinking. Demons—and angels too, for that matter—had no need for such things.

Crowley had repeated these same excuses to himself for thousands of years. Particularly after he heard how the humans spoke of it. Animals made sex look like work, and possibly painful work at that. They groaned, thrusted hard. Sometimes the males ganged up on the females and held her down so it looked like she didn't even have a choice in the matter. Crowley couldn't watch that kind of mating. He had to turn away from it or risk feeling sick. Humans, though…humans made sex sound like more than a biological necessity. They made it sound _fun_.

More than that, _demons_ made it sound fun too. "I tempted a woman to give up her virginity," Hastur would cackle, zipping up his trousers. "Now within a week, the church will expel her, and she will be driven away from the opposition and straight into our domain."

"I have convinced a man to commit adultery," Ligur bragged, always eager to one-up Hastur. "Give it a month, and we will have both him and his family too."

"Oh yeah?" Crowley asked, feigning interest. "How was it?"

"Evil. Deliciously evil—"

"No, not the tempting. The sex. What was that like?"

They looked at each other and laughed. "He still hasn't fucked anyone yet?"

"Er. I will."

"Do it," Hastur said, smirking. "There's nothing like having humans giving you pleasure. And the Almighty _hates_ it."

Crowley wasn't sure about that. It seemed to him that if the Almighty really hated it, She could stop it anytime She wanted. Then again, nothing about Her made sense and trying to figure Her out just gave him a headache.

"Maybe I could try it," he said to himself one day. "Just once, anyway." He was sure he could tempt at least one human. He tried to feel excited about the fact, but his body didn't seem to cooperate. Not that it ever did. Between shifting into snake form when he didn't expect it, his legs closing when he thought about sex, his eyes getting all watery when he was upset (not with tears, mind you, just a lot of water), and now this, it seemed to have a mind of its own.

That was why he'd been drawn to fashion, tattoos, and experimenting with hair styles. Those seemed like the only parts of his body he _could_ control. And even _that_ could be confusing. Because even though he didn't like Down There, he still liked female things. He enjoyed some of the clothes women wore and long hair and even liked the soft sounds of "she" and "her." He had tried them out a few times and enjoyed them. Aziraphale had been so cool about it too, switching up between "he" and "she" whenever Crowley asked him to. He appreciated it, but it was yet another area that bewildered the hell out of him because it made no sense. No one else seemed to have any of these problems.

He put a hesitant hand between his legs. No warmth, no reaction that he could feel. He wasn't cold-blooded, per se, not in the strictly literal sense that a reptile was, but his body didn't keep him as warm as humans' bodies kept them.

_Is it any different for Aziraphale?_ The angel radiated warmth in the figurative sense, so it was hard to believe there wasn't any of the literal stuff inside him. Perhaps there was in every angel, and it grew colder after one Fell.

"That would be just like God," he whispered. "She probably took the ability to feel love and passion away from us too." That would explain why he couldn't feel anything Down There. He pulled his pants and trousers a bit to see if anything looked different. Again, no change that he could see.

_I should practice on myself first._ That would help him get used to it and know what to do when it came time to approach Azira—a human. Crowley had shaken his head. Where the heaven had that come from? He didn't _really_ want sex with Aziraphale, an angel of all things! And even if he did, it wouldn't be possible. Aziraphale didn't like him like that. His suggestion about separate rooms proved that much.

Whatever. Masturbating. It couldn't hurt, right? And if it did piss off the Almighty, all the better. With that thought in mind, Crowley spread his legs and pried himself open. All he could feel was damp skin. He wasn't sure where the hole was. There were supposed to be two of them, right? Or just one? The further he tried to go, the more uncomfortable he got, especially since his hand would only go so far. It wasn't long before his wrist began to hurt and he had to pull it out, miracling his hand clean to get the smell off of it. He sighed. Nothing about this stuff had ever been easy, from the very beginning.

Crowley cringed when he remembered the first time he'd learned about sex and reproduction. No matter how hard he tried to burn that stain from his memory, it insisted on haunting him at odd hours. He could still smell Hastur and Beelzebub's stench as he gave them his report on the ark and the flood.

"So the mortals actually managed to cram in two of every animal, did they?" Beelzebub asked in disgust.

"Yeah. Well, except for the unicorns. One of them ran off, so only one of them made it on."

"Excellent," Hastur grinned. "We're one extinction closer to wiping out all life on Earth."

Crowley squinted. "Extinction?"

"Obviously."

"Why would unicorns go extinct? I told you, one of them did make it on board. Unless you're implying you want me to go and finish it off?"

Beelzebub huffed. "Because the other ones are all going to _drown_ , stupid. Then there'll be only be one left, so we can simply wait for it to die."

Crowley was confused. "But it still could have a baby before it died, right?" He saw animals have babies all the time. Hell, chickens laid eggs every day. Their babies were a dime a dozen. There had been a family of rabbits in Eden that seemed to have a new litter of babies every time he saw them. Plus, there were the insects. Egg _city_ , insects.

"By itself? I highly doubt it," Hastur smirked.

"Why not?" For Heaven's sake, why didn't they explain what they meant?

Hastur and Beelzebub's heads snapped up. Their usual disinterested scowls were gone. They stared at him for an uncomfortably long time. Crowley knew there was something he was missing. Something big.

Smiles—or something like them—twitched at the corners of their mouths. Hastur's yellow and green teeth became unfortunately visible as he and Beelzebub began to laugh. And the disposable demon taking notes on their meeting began to laugh. And the demons around them began to laugh. Not even a cool, evil-sounding maniacal laugh. Just mocking.

"You bloody moron!" Hastur jeered. "You absolute fool!"

"Aw, widdle Cwawey doesn't know where babies come fwom!" Ligur joined in. "So _innocent_." He stuck out his bottom lip. "So _stupid._ "

"All right. Whatever." Crowley tried to leave, but of course they weren't letting him get away that easily. Their arms blocked his path. Beelzebub moved to stand in front of him.

"I say we give Crawley here a little demonstration," they said, looking terribly pleased at the thought. "Since he has proven to know so little about reproduction, let's give him an education."

They had dragged him up to Earth and forced him to watch many a couple, animal and human, fuck each other into pregnancy. All of them rough, hard, fast, and always looking so painful for the female. Crowley's legs went stiff and wouldn't move so much as a millimeter apart from each other the whole time. He watched them spread or be forced to spread their lower bodies, with Down There parts that looked like his. Parts that were pried open, stuffed full, pounded, _hurt_. Parts that bled while their owners moaned in pleasure or screamed in pain.

Crowley had never really liked Down There. He couldn't reproduce and didn't need to urinate most of the time, so it had always seemed sort of useless, and ugly and smelly to boot. After that night, though, it was different. Crowley didn't just dislike what was between his legs. He couldn't bear the sight of it. Every glimpse in the mirror, every time the flaps opened just a little when he squatted down, every little reminder that it was there brought back what he'd been forced to see. Of what someone could do to him. Of the price that those animals had to pay just for being what they were.

For thousands of years, he ignored it. Easy enough, right? Just wear clothes like you had to anyway, and get changed as quickly as possible. Keep the legs tightly together in the shower or bath, and miracle it clean to avoid having to use soap on it. Simple.

Until, as always, a certain angel came along and turned everything upside down.

Ever since the days leading up to Armageddon and especially after Aziraphale had taken off his clothes in the spa, Crowley had noticed that part in a way he never had before. He was… _feeling things_ Down There. God only knew what, but something. Like a little warmth wiggling inside him. When he dared to touch it, it was wetter than usual. Smellier too. One thought, one memory, of Aziraphale's round shape, and the feeling was there.

It didn't hurt, but it was weird and he wasn't used to it. Crowley found he couldn't escape it. He kept his trousers on, his thighs closed. He lay on his belly and pressed his head into the pillow and tried desperately to think about anything else. Maybe if he just distracted himself, it would go away.

The harder he tried, the more it seemed to flare up. Crowley had no idea if _he_ wanted something or if his _body_ wanted something. It was so damn confusing. He didn't want to want anything. That only tempted God to take it away from you.

He sighed. _It'd be easier if Aziraphale had one of these stupid things too,_ he thought. _We could commiserate together. Actually. Wait a minute—_

He bolted up in bed. _How do I know he doesn't?_

That had been the one part of Aziraphale he hadn't gotten a good look at back in the spa. Crowley had been so focused on the top half and Aziraphale had been modestly concealing his front. Sure, Aziraphale's body _looked_ cis male, but that didn't mean anything. Crowley's looked cis male too.

Suddenly he had to know. He wouldn't be able to sleep until he knew whether Aziraphale had the part that could harden and push and force itself inside his own part.

_Boy, that'll be a fun conversation,_ he thought wryly. _Good morning, Angel, I was just wondering if you could tell me what sort of genitals you have? I'd be most appreciative._

Maybe there was a way he could find out without asking. He turned his head to look at Aziraphale, gnawing on his pillow yet again. As always, it made Crowley smile and giggle quietly. His eyes shifted to their full snake form as he inched closer to Aziraphale's side of the bed, putting his night vision to good use.

Aziraphale's arms were bare. Crowley pulled back the covers and studied the angel's legs. He had mostly kicked the blankets away to escape the heat, but his middle was still covered. A debate raged in his head, his curiosity battling his common sense.

_No, you idiot! You can't do that. What if he wakes up? He'd never trust you again, and he'd be right. This is a creepy, perverted thing to do._

_It's only for one second, I swear. Just to check and then I'll go right back to bed. I won't touch him or anything, I just want to look. Two seconds. He won't even know I did it._

_Oh yeah, and what if he wakes up?_

_If going to town on that fucking pillow didn't wake him up, me peeking in his pants for two seconds sure isn't going to._

Just like it had six thousand years ago, Crowley's curiosity won out. Very, very slowly, he lifted the blanket. He slipped his fingers under the waistline of Aziraphale's trousers and pulled, peering inside. His eyes went straight to his pants. He took hold of those and pulled them out too.

Dangling a few inches below his stomach was a part much different from Crowley's. A drastically bigger part than he would have thought was there. The part that hardened and pushed and forced and, from what Crowley had seen, could cause a lot of pain. Could cause _him_ a lot of pain. He removed his hand, started to lower the blanket, and tried not to feel too disappointed. It wasn't like there was anything to worry about, right? Aziraphale wouldn't hurt a fly, and he wouldn't want to be with Crowley anyway. He deserved better. Someone who was as kind and clever and good looking as he was, preferably. Crowley needed to just go back to sleep already and put this whole thing to rest—

A hand grabbed his wrist.

"What on earth is this?"

_Oh shit. Oh shitshitshitshitshitSHIT._ Crowley froze and struggled to breathe. "I-I-I'm sor—"

"Looks delicious." The hand, which was surprisingly strong, pulled Crowley toward Aziraphale's open mouth, which then closed around his fingers. He appeared to be having a very happy dream as he licked Crowley's fingers and made little noises in delight.

"I don't believe it." Crowley would have burst out laughing if his heart weren't still pumping marathons and making him shake. "Here I just had the biggest scare of my life and it turns out the bastard is still dreaming about food."

And with no signs of stopping, either. Aziraphale bit down on Crowley's fingers in an effort to chew whatever he was dreaming about. Crowley winced and bit his tongue to keep from crying out, but thankfully the bite wasn't hard and didn't last long. Aziraphale must have decided what he was eating wasn't meant to be chewed, so he settled for slurping and licking it happily.

That little wiggle was getting much bigger. Crowley shifted uneasily, wishing he had an ice pack. It was getting uncomfortably hot Down There. Aziraphale's tongue felt good against his fingers. Even in his sleep, he looked so damn happy to be eating that Crowley couldn't hold back a grin. He leaned forward, brushed a fluffy blonde curl back, and whispered, "I'm glad you like it."

"Mm." Aziraphale's sucking motions slowed. His head sunk further into the saliva-soaked pillow. Crowley miracled it clean and dry with his free hand. As long as he lived, he didn't think he'd ever get tired of watching this. Of watching Aziraphale be his wonderful, beautiful, brilliant, happy self even while subconscious. He would have given anything to lie down in the bed next to him and curl up in his big warm arms, right next to his heart.

_Don't start with that,_ he warned himself. _It's bad enough you invaded his privacy and spied on his genitals. Better hope he never finds out or he won't ever want to sleep in the same room with you again._ Crowley lowered his head and carefully withdrew his hand from Aziraphale's mouth. The moon caught his hair and seemed to light up his whole body. He was like a god.

"I love you," Crowley said, so softly that even he could barely hear it. It felt good to say. Even if it made the wiggle expand to every inch of his body until all of it was warm and wet with longing.


	14. Books in Bed

The farm was by far one of the loveliest places they'd seen. Aziraphale found he didn't have to twist Crowley's arm too much to convince him to stay a while. Even for a fast-living demon, there was plenty to enjoy. Besides the many animals around the barn and pasture and the farmer's market (which Aziraphale could _not_ get enough of), there were diners with the freshest food, little shops with handmade items, a winery that gave free samples, and parks as far as the eye could see. Every day they went to a new one and walked through trails by lakes and rivers while talking about everything under the sun. Aziraphale was amazed that even though they spent all of their time together, they never ran out of things to talk about.

Over the next week, he and Crowley went on hay rides and fished in the pond (with neither of them having any luck). They hiked the hills and walked through gardens, aviaries, and pumpkin patches. They sunbathed, swam in the lakes and rivers, and relaxed in the hammocks and tire swings strung up around the fields.

Even the bed and breakfast had more to do than they would have thought for a little place out in the country. There was a spa service, for starters, where the two of them happily enjoyed another session of pampering. In the backyard was an impressively large pool and hot tub, and in the room was a flat screen TV and a DVD player with movies you could rent. Aziraphale and Crowley had watched several of them, curled up in their bed with popcorn and candy.

"This is the life," Aziraphale sighed happily as he fell into bed after a full and happy day. "I think this may be the best place we've been to yet."

"Don't know about that, but it's definitely more fun than I thought it would be," Crowley said, sitting next to him. "Always figured life out in the country would be boring, but after this week, I could even see myself living in a place like this. I will say it _could_ use a little more nightlife. But the food, the wine, the plants, and the open skies are all so good it almost makes up for it."

"It _could_ use some of the city amenities," Aziraphale agreed. "I know I miss having libraries and Waterstones around. There was one secondhand bookshop in town that I saw, but other than that, I don't know where people out here go for books."

Crowley shrugged. "That part I could take or leave, really. I just need a good bar."

"You really wouldn't miss bookshops at all?" Aziraphale couldn't fathom that. Did that mean Crowley didn't like his own bookshop? He had always seemed so comfortable there.

"I've told you, I don't read books."

"Now why is that?" Aziraphale sat up. "You enjoy music and art and films and have attended live theater with me. Why are books the only art form you won't even try?"

"I _have_ tried them," Crowley said defensively. "It just takes too much time! Plays and films take three hours at most, and books can be upwards of twenty hours or more. Besides, the screen and stage have new things happening every minute. Books just have words and more words. Gets boring."

"Hmm, I suppose there is something to that," Aziraphale considered. Crowley always was a fellow with "ants in his pants," as the children said. He was the sort of person whose leg jiggled up and down at restaurant tables and whose fingers tapped on the armrests of benches. "Perhaps what you need—"

Crowley groaned. "Oh God no, _please_ don't start with that."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" Aziraphale protested, feeling most indignant.

Crowley's eyes were rolling to the ceiling. "Nothing good has ever come out of you saying what you think I need. Remember the last time you said that? I ended up careening down a Mexican mountain in a broken golf cart."

Aziraphale sighed. "That was _one_ —"

"And let's not forget the time before that, when you 'thought I needed' to try riding an elephant because…" He mimicked Aziraphale in a high voice while moving his head to the side. "It's so much better than a horse, Crowley! Come on dear fellow, you simply must try it! And like an idiot, I went all the way to South Africa for that elephant to pitch me headfirst into a stack of its own shit while the tourists laughed at me and took photos."

"Fine." Aziraphale stood up and coldly looked away. "I no longer think you need anything. Except perhaps some manners."

"All right, all right. No need to get huffy about it. What were you going to suggest?"

Aziraphale smiled. "I was going to say that perhaps what you need is someone to read to you while you do something else. Maybe you could tend to your plants and listen to a story—a short one, mind you—and it would help you enjoy it more."

He took the silence following that suggestion as a good sign. When Crowley didn't like something, he rejected it quickly (a trait the angel envied, that of not feeling the urge to think and ponder and consider every single angle). Silence meant he was tempted to say yes.

"Please give it a try," Aziraphale said. He could scream for joy at the idea of sharing books with Crowley. They were the only interests that Aziraphale always had to keep to himself. He had helped him come around to food and theater, but had always struggled to get him to show any interest in reading. "Just once?" he asked again.

Crowley tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "Do I get to pick the book?"

"Of course! Pick any book you like."

"All right. I'll give it a try."

"Oh, _thank you_!" he squealed. Before he could think too much about it, he threw his arms around Crowley like he'd always wanted to, hardly daring to believe his luck.

* * *

Finding a book for Crowley was easier said than done. He had never read much of anything other than the occasional newspaper (and even then, the paper was usually a prop to avoid having to talk to people), so he didn't have much to go on. With Crowley, there was no "If you like this, you may also like that," because he didn't like or know if he liked anything. And it only took about fifteen minutes looking through bookshop or library shelves before his eyes glazed over and he began to pace in boredom. After several attempts, he finally told Aziraphale to just pick something for him.

At first, Aziraphale was delighted at the chance to play librarian, then quickly realized that this would be difficult as well. For starters, the book had to be short and fictional, as Crowley thought nonfiction too "stuffy and dull." That eliminated every book Aziraphale had brought with him. He didn't read much fiction apart from the classics, so he already didn't have much to go on. Then there was the problem of finding something short. Aziraphale quickly learned that he and Crowley had drastically different definitions of the word. To him, a long book was a thousand pages or more, but Crowley's eyes bugged at anything over two hundred. That narrowed the possibilities considerably. Worse, the book had to be fairly recent, as Crowley insisted he didn't want anything "musty or dusty" and under no circumstances would he be read anything from the fourteenth century.

After hours of searching, he was starting to lose hope. "I've no idea what to read to you," he confessed to Crowley. "I'm terribly afraid that if I make the wrong choice, you'll be put off reading forever."

"Well, what's your favorite fiction book? You must have _one_ favorite that's not ridiculously long."

"Well, L.M. Montgomery and Robert Louis Stevenson come to mind, but I'm not sure if they're for you. As far as my favorite _short_ book, that's…" He ducked his head. "Well, never mind."

"What?"

"No no, it's silly."

"Out with it."

Aziraphale hunched his shoulders and kept his eyes to the floor. He could only imagine how Crowley would mock him. "Please don't laugh, but I think my favorite short book would have to be _Winnie the Pooh_."

"That's a book? Thought that was a cartoon."

Aziraphale's eye twitched. Honestly, the amount of books that were forgotten about due to film and television adaptations was heartbreaking. "The cartoon was based on the book. I picked it up when it was first published in 1926, and since then, I've read it so many times I have the whole text memorized. All one hundred and ninety-six pages of it." He wiggled at the memories. "I can't even express how much I love it."

"So why not read that?"

Aziraphale laughed. "Oh Crowley, you wouldn't enjoy a book like that! It's not spooky or horrific at all. It's an old children's tale of animals and a little boy having grand adventures in the woods."

"That doesn't sound so bad. 'Least it's got adventures. And animals are cool."

"Really?" He looked up. Crowley's eyes were serious. "You…you'd let me read _Winnie the Pooh_ to you?"

"Sure. If you love it, there's gotta be a reason."

His heart swelled, compelling him to give Crowley another hug, which he seemed surprisingly open to. Oh, how he loved him, loved him, _loved him_. "Thank you, dear. Thank you so much."

* * *

As soon as they were in for the night, they assumed their positions. Since Crowley had no plants to tend outside of London, he settled for playing what he said was a mindless game on his mobile. Aziraphale held open his well-loved copy of the book—which had just been miracled into their room—and slipped on his glasses. He cleared his throat.

"Are you ready?" It was hard to know if Crowley was paying attention when his eyes were glued to his phone screen.

"Yep."

"Very well. We are introduced to Winnie-the-Pooh and some bees, and the stories begin."

"I _know_ what the book is about, just start reading!"

Aziraphale laughed. "No dear, that's the name of the chapter, you see." He smiled at Crowley's blush and continued. "Here is Edward Bear—"

"Thought his name was Winnie."

" _Here is Edward Bear_ , coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it."

Aziraphale relaxed as he slipped back into the familiar prose that comforted him even more than his most favorite and well-worn of blankets. He read of antics and mishaps in the beautiful Hundred Acre Wood and felt Crowley relax against him. Not wanting to lose his attention, Aziraphale tried to liven up the story by giving each character a distinctive voice. He yelled when they yelled, wailed when they wailed, and added any other fun touches he could think of. That made it more fun even for him, and he could have burst from sheer joy when he saw Crowley set his phone aside and turn to look at the book with some interest.

After he'd read a few chapters, he started to close the book. "You're done already?" Crowley asked softly.

_I'd never thought I'd see the day._ "Would you like me to keep going?" Aziraphale asked with a leaping heart.

Crowley picked at the blanket, unusually shy. "'S more fun when you read it to me than when I read it myself," he said. "Feels more real that way."

Aziraphale opened the book back up to the next chapter. "Well, I can't disappoint such a lovely audience, can I?" He began to read again, and held the book close to his lips to cover the silly grin taking over his face when Crowley lay his head on his lap.

* * *

That night was one of the most wonderful that Aziraphale could remember in a long time. Besides the cozy joy of reading a book in bed just before sleeping, being silly with the voices was fun, and Crowley _loved_ it.

He had stretched out next to Aziraphale and lay there peacefully, eyes never straying from the book or the angel. Even Aziraphale could see that everything about his posture and body language was relaxed and happy. He giggled and laughed constantly, especially when either the narrator or a character said something clever.

Gosh, his laugh was beautiful. Every time he heard it, Aziraphale had to remind himself not to roll on his side and cover Crowley with kisses. He just kept reading and tried not to think about how close they were or how used they had gotten to sleeping in the same bed. He couldn't remember what it was like to sleep alone and didn't want to.

Of course, the book was almost as wonderful as the company. Before either of them knew it, it was halfway finished. Upon reaching this point and pausing to take a breath, Aziraphale realized Crowley had been quiet for a while and turned his head to look at him. His body had gone limp, empty wine glass long forgotten on the floor. He was struggling to keep his eyes open.

"'m sorry," Crowley murmured, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "'m still listening."

Aziraphale smiled tenderly and stroked his arm. "You needn't fight so hard to stay awake, we'll read the rest tomorrow." He set the book aside, at which point he realized how tired his own body was. Now that he wasn't focused on following the words in front of him, he could feel the lethargy in his shoulders and head. His throat was sore from speaking so much.

"You know, I think I shall sleep tonight too. A good book can have that effect on a person." He fluffed his pillow and pulled back the blankets. Crowley snuggled into his own pillow and Aziraphale lovingly tucked him in. The reading must have lulled him to sleep because his breathing was regular in minutes. Aziraphale was tired too, but he could hardly take his eyes off him.

_How is it possible he's even more beautiful when he's sleeping?_

He carefully combined their pillows and put his head next to Crowley's, closing his eyes. The bed was so much warmer with another person in it, and the warmth soothed him right to sleep.

He rested his hand on top of Crowley's just before drifting off.

* * *

To Aziraphale's unending delight, for the first time in his demonic life, Crowley could not get enough of books. And after trying so hard to pique his interest, Aziraphale was certainly not about to risk discouraging him. The next night, they finished _Winnie the Pooh_ , and the night after that, they started another book. They lay back without a care in the world after a day of exploring the area and filling their bellies with the farm's delicious food. Aziraphale read and Crowley listened and laughed. They kept going until one or both of them got too tired to continue. Each of them slept better than they had in decades, Crowley especially.

A few nights later, Aziraphale was engrossed in another adventurous children's tale he'd found at the local bookshop. He was in the middle of delivering a dramatic line when he felt something heavy land on his shoulder. He turned his head as much as he was able to and realized that Crowley had fallen asleep sitting up, the poor dear. That didn't look comfortable at all.

Aziraphale shifted to the other side of the bed and laid him down, covering him with blankets. He turned to look at Crowley's face and had to blink back tears.

In six thousand years, he had never seen him so peaceful. Crowley was so quiet and still that one would hardly even know he was there. He was relaxed, breathing slowly, his hair falling over his face. He looked thirty years younger.

_You can see the angel in him when he's asleep,_ Aziraphale thought, brushing a bit of hair back. Crowley couldn't put up his tough guy façade when he was asleep. He had no choice but to show his true nature. Never had Aziraphale imagined he could look like that. With his eyes closed and sunglasses off, he could be mistaken for human. 

He watched him for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes until he fell asleep too.

* * *

Now that Aziraphale had seen Crowley in such a lovely state, he wanted to see it again. He let Crowley choose whatever books he wanted to read aloud and started at whatever time he liked. With every night, Crowley became more relaxed, and he often fell asleep, much to Aziraphale's delight. The more relaxed he became, the closer they got to each other.

First Crowley had his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. Then it moved to his chest. One night, Aziraphale had just sat on the bed and stretched his legs when Crowley moved in between them. He rested his head against Aziraphale's heart, back against his belly, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Can see the pictures better this way," he said, eyes locked on the book. There were only three pictures in it.

Aziraphale spread his legs wider and smiled, grateful Crowley had his back to him and couldn't see. The warm weight on his chest was soothing.

"Besides," Crowley said, making himself comfortable. "You're softer than any of those pillows."

"Yes, don't remind me," Aziraphale grumbled. He opened the book and tried as hard as he could to focus on reading it. That was difficult with a body resting against his own that grew limper and more relaxed as the night went on. When Crowley laughed—which was often, as Aziraphale had scoured the shelves for funny books—Aziraphale felt his body tremble against his own, and couldn't resist laughing with him. Sometimes his arms got tired from holding up the book and turning its pages, and Crowley would take over for him When that happened, Aziraphale would let his arms drop, just _happening_ to fall into Crowley's lap and around his belly. He tensed at first, unsure if there would be a protest. There wasn't.

Aziraphale grew bolder. He lightly stroked Crowley's arm or leg, just a little. Pet his hair, pat his hand, and when he felt really brave, encircle his waist in a backwards hug. Each time, he could swear he felt Crowley leaning into the touch. This kept on for a week until it happened.

The night began like any other, with the two of them in what was now their usual positions. Since they had just started reading, Crowley was wide awake, though still relaxed. It pained Aziraphale to see that they didn't have much left of their latest book and hadn't found a new one yet. That meant their session would end early tonight.

_Maybe I should read more slowly._

He did read more slowly, exaggerating the dialogue even more than usual and feeling tingles every time a smile quirked at Crowley's lips. They were on the last page when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his face.

Aziraphale had never, ever, seen Crowley look so happy. He was resting against him with contentment etched into every one of his features, eyes gentle, that old scowl gone. His hands were resting on Aziraphale's legs and his whole body radiated… _love_. Love and trust.

Crowley looked up. "You all right?"

Aziraphale jumped. He now realized he had accidentally stopped reading for a moment. Silly. He quickly forced his eyes back to the text, hoping he hadn't just given himself away.

"Yes, of course. Sorry." He hurried through the last page and closed the book.

"It's over already?" Crowley asked.

"I'm afraid so, dear. We'll have to find another one tomorrow." He put the book on the bedside table and leaned back against the pillows. To his surprise, Crowley didn't move. His body continued to rise and fall with Aziraphale's. They stayed like that for a while until the demon cleared his throat awkwardly.

"It's been nice, this," he said. "You were right. Reading is cool when the book is good. Even more so when someone else does the reading."

Was it possible to get drunk on happiness? To _explode_ or discorporate from happiness? At the moment, Aziraphale felt as if both were possible. He hugged Crowley fiercely. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear that." Truly, he wondered if this amazing demon would ever know what these readings meant to him, what _he_ meant to him. He rested his hands on his belly and his chin on his head. That red hair was softer than he could have guessed. He wanted to kiss it. He wanted to kiss it and never, ever stop kissing it.

Crowley stretched his limbs, grunting at the effort. He started to move away, and before Aziraphale knew what he was doing, his arms were tight around Crowley's waist, pulling him close and covering his legs with his own.

He'd trapped him in place.

"A-Aziraphale?" 

_Tell him. Kiss him. Do something._ "I-I'm quite comfortable like this, you know," he said. _Idiot!_ Why did he have to be such a coward?

"Me too," Crowley said, and the drowsy hint to his voice indicated he was starting to fall asleep. "You really are a good pillow."

Had anyone else said that, Aziraphale might have been offended. Yet with Crowley it was different. With him, it was almost like being a big fat slug wasn't a bad thing. Why, the way he was pressing his head back into Aziraphale, it was almost as if he _liked_ his shape. Of course, that was ridiculous. No one liked a soft gut; Gabriel had said as much. Still, Aziraphale found he felt much better about how he looked when Crowley was around.

"And you are quite nice company," he said. He risked running a hand up and down Crowley's arm and was relieved when the demon didn't stir. That made him feel bolder. "It's better, I think, to have someone next to me when I sleep. Makes the bed warmer and cozier. So I'd say this room worked out well for both of us."

Crowley gave a small smile but said nothing. His head grew heavy on Aziraphale's chest, and a minute later, he was asleep.

Aziraphale was shocked to find his vision blurring. He and Crowley had hugged before and shared a bed for nearly two weeks now. He had seen him naked during that time in the mountains. Yet somehow this felt more intimate than anything else. Something about falling asleep against somebody felt like the ultimate expression of trust. He was honored to have earned that from Crowley. From someone who had agreed to try reading just because he knew how much Aziraphale loved it. From the love of his life.

Not wanting it to end, he stayed that way for a while. He carefully wrapped his arms around Crowley's front, rested his chin in his hair, and closed his eyes to listen to the rhythms of the warm body in front of him. How it moved up and down with breath, how the stylishly gelled hair slowly came undone and fell over his face. Aziraphale could watch and listen to that forever.

However, he knew it wouldn't do for either of them to sleep sitting up. Such a thing was murder on the back. He checked to make sure Crowley was deeply, soundly asleep, and pressed the smallest and softest of kisses to the top of his hair. It felt so good. If only he had the nerve to do it when Crowley was awake.

"I love you," he whispered into that hair. He dried his eyes before taking care to shift away from Crowley and lie him down on his back. Once he'd turned off the light and covered them both with the blanket, he lay on his side, wiggled as close to Crowley as he could get, took his hand, and carefully kissed him again until he too fell asleep.


	15. A Ski in the Park

For the first time he could remember, Crowley was awake before Aziraphale, though the latter's stomach seemed to know exactly what time it was since Crowley could hear it growling. He giggled and watched as Aziraphale, like clockwork, began to chew his pillow, making little noises of pleasure at the taste of whatever he was dreaming about. The more his belly rumbled in hunger, the more he chewed. He'd be ravenous when he woke up.

_Best get him some breakfast before he starts eating the bedsheets too._

Feeling in strangely happy spirits, Crowley dressed and combed his hair. He had always loved sleep, but he hadn't done this much of it since the nineteenth century. Since that first night in the Summer Beach Resort and Spa, his body had felt fantastic (except, of course, for the head injury). But apart from that, it seemed to move faster, have more energy, and wake up earlier, especially on the farm. Maybe there was something to the whole "full night's sleep every night" thing the humans talked about. Or maybe they were rubbing off on him after all this time. Whatever the case, he felt light on his feet and nicely energetic while heading down the stairs to fetch a plate of food for him and Aziraphale.

"Ah, good morning, Mr. Crowley!" the owner waved to him. "Don't think I've ever seen you up this early before."

Crowley shrugged good-naturedly. "It's a nice day, don't want to miss it." He grabbed a plate and piled it high with muffins, pastries, and fruit.

"You're right there, beautiful day. Got any plans?"

"Nah, not really. Just more exploring and relaxing, I guess. Although we've already seen a lot of what's around here."

"Have you been to Swan River Park?"

Crowley looked up. "No, I don't believe we have. What's at Swan River Park?"

"Oh, it's beautiful!" she spread her hands to demonstrate. "It's a bit of a drive from here, but it's well worth it. There's an enormous river, filled with swans and other wildlife—hence the name—and you can rent these little swan-shaped paddle boats and jet skis and the fishing's incredible—"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up." Crowley set the plate aside and turned to give her his full attention. "Did you say jet skis?"

"Oh, yes!" She nodded. "The fastest jet skis anywhere, and you can drive them all over the river for three hours for only thirty euros!"

Crowley grinned. "Well, I know exactly what my friend and I will be doing today."

* * *

"Jet skis?" Aziraphale frowned. "Is that the sport where you stand on the water and a boat pulls you along?"

"No, no, that's water skiing. These are jet skis. You drive them. Or rather, _I_ drive them. You can sit behind me and be a passenger." Crowley could see it now. A fast, smooth ride across a gorgeous river with Aziraphale's arms around his waist, the wind caressing their faces while the sun warmed their backs.

"So like driving a boat then?"

Crowley sighed. "No, like riding a motorcycle, only it's in the water."

"A motorcycle!" Aziraphale dropped his muffin. "Don't you remember what happened the last time we tried to ride one of those contraptions?"

He had to bring _that_ up. "For the millionth time, it's not my fault Paris was under construction. How was I supposed to know about the barricades? Besides, we healed ourselves, didn't we?"

"Physically, perhaps. The mental scar it left upon my soul shall remain there forever."

"Come on. Adventure! Remember?"

Aziraphale had his I'm-thinking-about-this-even-though-I-don't-like-it face. Crowley knew it was time to sweeten the deal. He moved in closer. "Well, even if you don't like the jet skis, we can at least go visit Swan River Park. Can't we? There's supposed to be all kinds of wildlife there. You could bring a book and read in the shade of a tree. We could both go in our swim suits so we could swim without having to change."

And there it was, the yes face Crowley couldn't get enough of. "You're right," Aziraphale said happily. "We can absolutely go visit. Give me half an hour and I'll be ready to go."

"Excellent." Crowley rubbed his hands together. He couldn't wait.

* * *

Swan River Park was one of the most scenic places they could remember visiting. After parking the Bentley and walking through a wooded trail, they came to the river, which spread out so far in all directions that they couldn't tell where it began or ended. The water was clear enough to see fish eating whatever they could nibble, with charitable humans tossing them bread crumbs from the docks and banks. Couples were paddling out in the swan-shaped boats. Real swans were having a swim near some lily pads, where frogs leaped about. All around were people fishing, strolling, riding bikes. Some watched the stilt-legged birds that flew about hunting for fish or the ducks and geese preening their feathers near the water. At the center of the park sat a dock with a little shed that stood guard over a fleet of purple jet skis lined up neatly in the water.

"There they are." Like a moth to a flame, Crowley made a beeline for the office with a nervous Aziraphale behind him.

"Um, Crowley, are you quite sure these machines are safe? They won't harm any of the wildlife or disrupt the ecosystem, will they? Don't want to upset the delicate balance of nature, after all."

Crowley ignored him and approached the woman in charge. "We'll take one," he said, handing over thirty euros and the boating credentials he'd miracled up. Good thing they had agreed to go to the park in their swimsuits. Now they could get right onto the water.

"Excellent. Just have it back in three hours." She had Crowley and Aziraphale sign a few waivers (much to the dismay of the latter) and handed him the key to a bright, beautiful jet ski at the front of the line. Once she got it unlocked and ready for him, he hopped on and fired it up.

"Ahh," Crowley sighed, closing his eyes. There was nothing like the feeling of being in control of a powerful machine just waiting to do your bidding. As much as he loved the Bentley, he had to admit that a jet ski or motorbike offered far more flexibility. He could already tell from the feel of the wheel in his hands and the tilt of the ski that it would handle like a dream.

"Um, Crowley, h-have you ever driven one of these before?" Aziraphale asked. He carefully took his place on the jet ski behind Crowley.

He shook his head. "Nope. First time. Always wanted to though."

"Oh dear, that's what I was afraid of."

The owner approached them. "Now before you go, be sure to put on these life jackets." She handed them the ugliest, fattest, most violently orange life jackets Crowley had ever seen. Black was supposed to go with everything, but there was no way that shade wouldn't clash horrendously with his sleek swimsuit.

"Oh, thank you. That's a relief." Aziraphale slung his on right away and strapped it up tight.

"Oh, thank you. That's a relief," Crowley mimicked and pretended to put his on just long enough for the woman to nod approvingly and turn around, then he flung it into the water.

"Crowley! You can't drive this thing without a life jacket," Aziraphale said.

"Oh, really?" He took hold of the handlebars. "Let's find out."

"Crowley—aaaaagh!"

"Haha!" Off he went, speeding around the river with Aziraphale's arms around his waist, increasingly tightly. The trees and sky began to blur as he zigged and zagged around swan-shaped paddle boats and fishing lines to reach the wide-open space. He could feel his eyes going full-snake in excitement. His whole body leaned into the motions. The jet ski obeyed his every whim and was delightfully fast, zooming across the water and leaving a churning white wake behind. Some of it splashed their legs and waist.

"Whooo!" Crowley cheered. "Now _this_ is exploring!"

"Mind you don't hit the swans!" Aziraphale shouted, clutching his shoulders and stomach for dear life. "And—whoa, can't you slow down just a little? These turns are getting awfully sharp."

"Come on! We're riding the river in style." If only the Bentley could turn and make circles this easily! Crowley barely needed to move the wheel at all. Just a tilt of his body and the ski did exactly what he wanted.

They rode for what might have been entire miles. The river became wider as its bank grew further. Hardly any humans were around here. Even the animals had thinned out.

_Perfect_.

"See, there's no one here," Crowley said. "Now we can really crank it up!"

"What does that mean?"

"I'll show you." He flipped the switch on the front of the jet ski to turbo. Immediately they shot off like a rocket, Aziraphale screaming and Crowley laughing maniacally. Damn, this was so much fun. He needed to ride jet skis more often.

"Crowley, _please!"_ Aziraphale begged. "Slow down."

Crowley rolled his eyes. Why did he have to be such a buzzkill? Just once, couldn't he let loose and have some fun? 

He looked back at Aziraphale, a slight glare on his face. "Would it kill you to relax and enjoy something every now and—"

"CROWLEY, LOOK OUT!"

"Shit!" He turned back to see a good-sized boat coming straight toward them. He rushed to turn right, but he was going so fast that the jet ski was getting more difficult to maneuver and the boat was huge enough that getting away from it required a massive turn. He pushed his whole body into it, Aziraphale screaming into his ear all the while. He just managed to get them out of the boat's path before they were both pitched sideways into the water as the jet ski capsized and sputtered to a stop a few feet away.

Coughing and flailing to the surface, Crowley could barely get a breath of air before Aziraphale started in on him. "You see! I _told_ you that you were going too fast!"

"Well, if you hadn't distracted me with all your whining, I would have seen the boat sooner!"

"Whining? So me wanting to be safe and not get discorporated is whining?"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake!" Crowley kicked his legs furiously to stay afloat, keeping an eye on the jet ski to make sure it didn't get carried away. "You think anything that's fun will get us discorporated. We're _fine_ , see? No harm done."

"No harm done? Look at the state of my hair!" Aziraphale's fluffy hair didn't hold up well under water and was flopping down all over his head. "And may I add that if you had worn your life jacket like the woman told you to, you wouldn't have to struggle so much to stay afloat. See?" He pointed to himself. Of course he was bobbing up and down without a bit of effort thanks to that orange monstrosity strapped to his chest.

"Shut up!" Crowley spat. He splashed Aziraphale in the face. The angel coughed and glared.

"Don't you _splash_ me!" Aziraphale returned the favor, stinging Crowley's eyes with water.

"I'll _splash_ you all I want!" Crowley declared, sending another wave at his face.

"Well, then I'll _splash_ you right back!"

"You go right ahead!"

They continued like this for a few minutes, splashing each other, each determined to have the last splash, when Crowley glanced over Aziraphale's shoulder and gasped.

"Whoa, time out!" he yelled as he sent one more wave toward his face (There! Now he had the last splash and was therefore the winner). "The jet ski is sinking!"

The machine had turned on its side and somehow, through the current and wind, had turned completely upside down and was disappearing under the water.

"Shit, no! That's a rental and our ride back to shore!" Crowley swam over to it, gasping and panting. "Help me get it out!"

"Right behind you!" Aziraphale called. But he wasn't a great swimmer under the best of circumstances and of course he couldn't swim very fast with that stupid life jacket slowing him down. Crowley would have to save the jet ski himself. Taking a deep breath, he dove down after it.

The water wasn't as clear this far out. He struggled to see the jet ski sinking fast to the bottom of the river. He pushed himself down after it, shivering rapidly. _Never thought the water would be this cold._ He reached for the jet ski, but it was sinking faster than he could swim. Each time he managed to grab hold of some part of it, the blasted thing would slip out of his grasp. It finally came to a stop in a tangled pile of weeds and plants.

Crowley took hold of the handlebars and pulled. Unfortunately, the jet ski was much heavier underwater and he couldn't lift it very high. He tugged and tugged, but he could barely budge it. It wasn't long before his lungs felt like they were on fire.

_It's no good. I'll have to come back for it with a knife or something. Or maybe miracle it back onto the surface._ Yeah, that was probably the better option. Right now, he needed to get to the surface before he drowned and discorporated. He let go of the jet ski and started to swim up only to be yanked down.

His ankle was caught in the weeds. Tugging at it, Crowley pulled and pulled. His foot was stuck fast and those weeds, which had grown strong and undisturbed, were strong and had a powerful grip. He twisted and turned and his heart thundered as he struggled to a surface that now seemed very far away.

_Come on, come on, I can't discorporate now._ He flailed and pulled desperately. His energy was fading fast. Water was seeping into his mouth. He began to feel lightheaded. His throat was going to explode. 

_Please no…not now…someone help me…_

A splash from above rippled through the water and made Crowley look up. Something big was coming toward him, reaching out a hand. Crowley reached out to take it, but it moved away as the shape shifted behind him and took hold of his foot. In seconds, it was free. Powerful arms wrapped around his waist and carried him right up to the top of the river. He burst through the surface and sucked in gulps of air, feeling weak and exhausted.

"Crowley, are you all right?" Aziraphale's voice was just short of frantic. He put a hand to the back of Crowley's head and held it to his shoulder. "You had me scared half to death, you idiot."

Crowley was breathing too heavily to answer. He held on to Aziraphale and let himself be wrapped in something padded and tight—the life jacket, he realized after a few seconds. Aziraphale had fastened it around both of them. Loathe as he was to admit it, Crowley liked the coziness of it. Aziraphale was warm and soft, and he was holding Crowley to him like one of his most treasured books.

"'m okay," he said between gasps, resting his head on that strong shoulder.

"Good," Aziraphale said. His voice had turned into that soothing tone he had used back in the mountains. "Now just breathe. I've got you, you're all right now."

_Really? I couldn't tell._ Nah, he wouldn't say that. Aziraphale just couldn't help being a gentle nurse. It was in his nature. And he wasn't a bad rescuer either.

"Um, thanks," Crowley said when he had regained his breath. "For. You know."

"Of course," he said, patting him on the back. Then his face hardened. "But you _must_ be more careful. We do not need any more near-discorporation experiences on this trip. I can't lose you again!" His eyes watered just a bit on that last part.

Crowley squeezed his shoulders. "Yes, you're right." He held on, still shivering from the cold even though the water was starting to warm. "How did you get the weeds off me? I tried everything and couldn't get out of there."

"Oh, I didn't even think there was time to bother about pulling them off you, so I just miracled you free."

"Ah." Now that he thought about it, that did seem the more sensible option. "Could you miracle the jet ski up here too so I can take us back? I promise I'll slow up this time."

"In a minute. I want to watch that ship go by."

"What ship?" Crowley lifted his head and turned to look where Aziraphale was watching with awe. "Oh, wow. Nice one."

The ship was enormous and filled with passengers milling about, taking photos and pointing to sights. On its deck was a string of lights surrounding fancy tables and chairs. All of the humans on board were well dressed and smiling.

"Don't think I've ever seen a boat like that," Crowley said.

"It's a river cruise," Aziraphale told him. "I've read about them. They sound lovely. Like an ocean liner, but on a much smaller scale." He sighed. "I've always wanted to go on a cruise to another country someday. Too bad we can't go on one like that."

Crowley looked at Aziraphale and raised his eyebrows. He gave a slight smile. The idea seemed to occur to both of them at the same time.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Crowley asked with a grin.

"If it's that we've found our next destination, then yes!"


	16. Smooth Sailing

_The Queen Victoria_ was, apart from Noah's ark, the biggest and strongest-looking ship Crowley had ever seen. As he and Aziraphale followed their fellow passengers aboard its massive entrance, he found he couldn't take his eyes off it. The dark color contrasted with the bright flags hanging off of it, battered back and forth by the sea breeze. One was the US flag, as the cruise was a transatlantic bound for New York. Another was for Ireland since it was leaving out of Dublin, and the last was for Spain, which was their first stop and where Crowley and Aziraphale planned to get off, determined to make up for the last experience they'd had there.

"Doesn't it seem a little silly to buy tickets for a transatlantic cruise and then get off at the first stop?" Aziraphale had asked. "Why not stay on for the whole thing?"

"We can't really enjoy all of Barcelona in just one day. Besides, I've been to New York. You wouldn't like the way it is now." Actually, Crowley loved New York and thought Aziraphale probably would too, given its many museums, galleries, bookshops, and theaters. He simply wanted to grant the angel's wish to go on a cruise without staying out in the water too long.

The waves of the ocean roared beside the ship, and Crowley tried to tune them out as he kept his eyes firmly on the line ahead. _It's not holy water_ , he told himself. _It's just the ocean. No big deal._

It was a curious thing. Crowley was perfectly fine with water when there was land nearby. He liked the beach and the lakes or rivers in parks, and he'd obviously loved jet skiing. But when he was _surrounded_ by water, when there was no land anywhere in sight…then he began to get a bit nervous. The last time he had been in the middle of the ocean with no land for hundreds of miles was on a certain luxury liner in 1912. That had been an awful experience for more than one reason.

"We're almost there!" Aziraphale cheered. He looked stupid yet undeniably adorable in his white sailor getup, which he insisted was perfect for a cruise. He even had a little hat on his head. For Crowley's part, he had opted for a tank top and some casual shorts. He also wore his sunglasses for the first time in weeks. They headed inside the ship, the sun and ocean disappearing behind them.

"What should we do first? After we've checked into our stateroom, of course."

Crowley thought about that, feeling a happy spark at _our_ stateroom. "Toss-up between the art gallery and the casino."

"The art gallery sounds delightful, but the casino…" Aziraphale's face twisted into a grimace. "I don't suppose I could talk you into the library instead?"

Crowley heaved a sigh. "We're on a _cruise ship_ and you want to see the library? Again?" Seeing Aziraphale's pout, he suggested, "How about we split up? We each do what we want and then meet for dinner at the French restaurant?"

"Sounds lovely," Aziraphale agreed. So that's what they did. After checking in and dropping off their luggage in the stateroom, Crowley bade him goodbye and headed to the art exhibit. He spent an hour admiring the paintings and ceramics before moving on to the casino.

By far the sleekest and dimly lit place on the ship, the casino was full of smokers, drinkers, and rough talkers whose faces were frozen in glares. They had stacks of money on the table. There were rows of slot machines, a billiards table, a bar, and several tables for poker, blackjack, and other such games. The whole room was decorated in red and black with all of the modern touches.

Crowley smiled. He fit right in.

"Oi, you," he called to a particularly drunk-looking patron. "How's about a little game, eh?"

The man laughed. "Wha, with _you_?" he sneered. He was a large man with a beer in his hand and an excessively thick cigar in his mouth.

"Why, yes," Crowley said, pitching his voice higher to sound innocent and nervous. "With me." He picked up a deck and shuffled it. "I just love playing cards."

The man laughed, and a few others laughed with him. "Get your skinny arse outta 'ere."

"Oh." Crowley cast his eyes to the floor, grateful they were hidden behind his sunglasses. "And here I was so excited to place some bets." He took a stack of bills from his pocket. "I had a whole bunch I wanted to wager, but if you don't want to play—"

"Hold on!"

Crowley grinned. Two minutes later, he and the drunkard were across from each other at one of the tables with a crowd watching in earnest. He loved the thrill of gambling, but try getting Aziraphale to play anything other than wholesome games like go fish. Whenever Crowley was desperate for social interaction, he often found himself at a casino. All the time he spent in bars had given him plenty of opportunities to get good at pool. Six thousand years on Earth had given him plenty of time to get good at everything else, especially now that you could play online. His phone and tablet were loaded with gambling apps, which he'd used to win eight thousand pounds and lose two thousand in the last year alone.

Crowley and the man played three games and bet higher and higher each time. Naturally, being drunk made him a terrible player. Only an hour had gone by before Crowley once again pulled all of the chips and bills over to his side of the table, smiling ever so innocently.

"Well, what do you know? Perhaps I have a talent for this game," he said.

The man snarled. "Listen, you—" He pulled back his fist and punched Crowley in the face.

Or at least, he tried to. Instead his fist went through thin air, causing him to lose his balance and fall to the floor. The other patrons gasped and quickly threw the rest of their drinks into the trash. They must have had far too much if they were hallucinating a man disappearing from his seat and reappearing at the entrance of the casino.

"So long, suckers!" Crowley laughed, counting his money as he slipped out. _Five thousand pounds._ That was going right into the Aziraphale Library Fund. Speaking of Aziraphale, it was almost time to meet him for dinner. Crowley took off his sunglasses and whistled happily as he headed toward the French restaurant.

Aziraphale was already there. Judging by the way he was bouncing on his heels and wearing a huge smile, he had something exciting to share. Crowley gave him a little smile of his own and moved to stand by his side as they were seated.

The minute they'd been provided menus and left to look them over, Aziraphale gushed quickly. "The library on this ship is simply _magnificent!_ It's just like my bookshop back home and exactly the kind of library I would want at home. Everything is from the Victorian era and it has the comfiest chairs and…" He blushed and turned his head. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't bore you with it. But it was lovely."

Crowley smiled. That sparkle in Aziraphale's eyes when he got excited never failed to warm him inside. He covered the angel's hand with his own.

"I'll have to see it soon," he said gently. Aziraphale looked up gratefully and intertwined their fingers. They both moved closer. Crowley lowered his eyes to focus on his lips.

"Excuse me, gentlemen?" They jumped and broke apart. "Do you know what you would like this evening?" A server stood in front of them, pen at the ready.

"Oh. Um, why, yes," Aziraphale said, straightening his bowtie. "I'll take a bottle of sparkling red wine and your special for tonight." He grabbed a croissant out of the basket on the table and stuffed it into his mouth.

Crowley ordered wine as well, and turned to watch Aziraphale's beautiful face glow in the candlelight. The French restaurant was beautiful with white tablecloths, paintings on the walls, and live piano music played by a professional in the corner. He hadn't realized it would be this romantic.

"So." Aziraphale swallowed and looked at him pleasantly. "How was the art gallery?"

"Hmm? Oh. Er, great. Very nice." He nodded. "You should definitely go by and check it out later."

"Perhaps I will." The awkward silence that followed drove Crowley crazy. He wanted to reach over, grab Aziraphale by the shoulders, and plant a giant kiss on his lips just to break the tension.

"And the, uh, games?" Aziraphale asked. He was far too much of a goody-two-shoes to even _say_ "casino" or "gambling."

"Yeah, those were nice too," he answered. He patted his bulging pocket. "Did pretty well for myself, I must say."

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. "You weren't hustling again, were you?"

"Um…"

_"Crowley!"_

"What? It's not breaking any laws! It's not even a commandment." _Besides, once you see that library I'm gonna build you, you'll wish I'd hustled more._ He imagined Aziraphale's face when he walked into his very own library. The smile, the tears, the unbridled joy, made Crowley squirm in his seat to avoid turning into a snake. He put a hand to his mouth to suppress a stupidly happy grin.

Aziraphale was not convinced. "It's a deceitful, dishonest, unforgivably—hey, our wine is here!" Crowley giggled as Aziraphale immediately abandoned his lecture in favor of popping a cork once the server had left. He poured them each a glass and raised his own. "A toast?"

"What, to our trip?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale winked. "To the world."

"To the world." They clinked their glasses and took a sip. "And what a great world it's been." Crowley relaxed and glanced around the restaurant, admiring the art. "I'm glad we were able to save it and see it."

"Me too," Aziraphale said. "And I'm especially grateful that I was able to see it with you."

Crowley's heart fluttered as he turned to see Aziraphale take his hand. "I mean it. You've introduced me to so many new and delightful things. I'm a better angel because of you, and the world is better because you're in it."

God, that made Crowley's eyes fill right up. He took a breath to calm himself. "I think the same could be said for you," he said, hoping his voice didn't shake. "You helped me like books a lot more. And in general, you make me feel like…" His breath caught. "Like…"

"Like what?" Aziraphale pressed.

"Like I'm," Crowley tried to shrug it off. "Worth something."

"Oh _Crowley_." He turned and was shocked to see Aziraphale's eyes looking as full as his own. "You're worth more than I could ever give you. More than all the treasures in the universe." He stood up. "Come here."

Crowley stood, feeling dizzy with nerves. Aziraphale came over and hugged him. Not a quick, overexcited hug, but a long and loving one.

_Finally._

It felt so good. His arms were firm yet gentle. The warmth of his soft and beautiful body brought tears to Crowley's eyes. He hugged back, fiercely, melting under Aziraphale's hand in his hair. They only broke apart when the server came back with their food.

"What do you say we spend tonight in and tomorrow out?" Aziraphale asked. Even while eating, he didn't let go of Crowley's hand. "We could read in bed after dinner and then head to the pool in the morning. Maybe hit up the buffet and see one of the shows."

Crowley squeezed his hand. "I can't think of anything I'd love more."

* * *

Crowley woke up tucked under Aziraphale's arm, in the most blissful state he could remember. They'd returned to their stateroom last night after dinner. Because they'd booked last minute, the room had only one bed. But this time, it didn't feel weird or scary. It felt _right_. Even Aziraphale had seemed fine with it.

Both of them were wearing soft pajamas and had cuddled up together with a book until they each started to fall asleep, at which point Aziraphale had set it on the bedside table and laid Crowley down. He'd expected that they would lie a few feet apart from each other. But Aziraphale had wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him close, pressing his nose to his hair and placing a leg protectively over him before tucking the blankets around them both. Crowley had thought he would burst from happiness. He'd dreamed of this happening, but never thought it actually _would_. He loved the closeness in bed more than anything in the world.

Aziraphale was still asleep, so Crowley stayed quiet as he looked around their stateroom. It was similar to the many hotel rooms they'd stayed in, except it was covered in nautical décor with a porthole window and a balcony outside. The ocean waves crashed against the ship, sounding farther away than they probably were. Out in the hallway, crew members were knocking on doors with room service orders and morning cleanings. Crowley and Aziraphale had hung a "Do Not Disturb" sign on their door to avoid being woken up, and he was thankful for it now. He never wanted this to end.

_I wish every day could be like this._ He imagined spending every morning and evening in Aziraphale's arms. Their own bed, intended just for them instead of any paying guest that came along. Their own home.

The longing and love filled him up. He turned around to face Aziraphale. His mouth was open, just inches away from the pillow. Grinning, Crowley carefully slid it just inside his mouth. Like a baby at a breast, Aziraphale began to suck on it.

Crowley laughed until his face was red as his love sucked and chewed and moaned in delight. _God,_ this was his favorite thing. He could watch it for hours.

Aziraphale shifted in his sleep. His shirt rode up. He was breathing heavily, and the rise and fall of his round belly was almost hypnotizing. Crowley checked to make sure he was deeply asleep and then put a hand on it.

Even softer than he'd imagined.

When he thought of being with Aziraphale, one of Crowley's silliest, most ridiculous fantasies was to bury his face in his stomach like a pillow. It _looked_ like a pillow, for Heaven's sake, and it felt unbelievably soft under his hand.

Heart hammering, he moved down and slowly, carefully, shut his eyes. He put his face to Aziraphale's stomach, taking in the warmth and softness.

He had exactly four seconds of bliss before Aziraphale rolled over, crushing Crowley's face and putting him in a position that was either terrible and uncomfortable or the best fucking thing ever. His body couldn't decide which. He couldn't breathe under Aziraphale's stomach or move out from under it, but Down There was heating up like a sauna. Every time the angel breathed in, his body pressed Crowley a little further into the bed.

Trying to ignore the heat below, Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's back and pressed a kiss to his stomach. The scent filled his mouth and made him go limp with love. Just as he thought his body might burst, Aziraphale woke up.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry!" He pushed himself off the bed and pulled his shirt down, holding it tightly over him. "Are you hurt?"

He looked so worried that Crowley answered gently. "No, it was fine."

Aziraphale wrapped the blankets around himself, bringing his knees to his chest. "I don't know how much I can alter a celestial corporation, but I'll try my best to miracle myself skinnier so that doesn't happen again."

"What? Why?" He couldn't imagine Aziraphale skinny. He didn't want to. 

Aziraphale looked confused. "Well, so I won't be as fat, of course. I mean, look at me." He gestured to himself. "It's absurd how much I've let myself go. I should have done it long ago. I'll get rid of all this blubber and have a firm, muscular—"

_"No."_ Crowley grabbed his arm. "Please." His lip wobbled. He preferred to keep his desires private, but what other excuse could he offer? "I, I like you this way."

Aziraphale gave a sad smile. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better, Crowley."

"I'm not lying! I really do like you this way."

"Nobody likes me this way."

" _I_ do!"

Aziraphale sighed. "I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, Crowley, but I know how everyone _really_ feels, and that's—"

Before he could think about it, before he even knew what he was doing, Crowley had thrown his arms around Aziraphale's middle and nuzzled it with his face. He closed his eyes.

"C-Crowley?"

"I love this," he whispered, blushing and hoping Aziraphale didn't think him crazy. "Don't you feel how soft you are? It's like sleeping next to a damn teddy bear." He looked up. "Please. Don't take that away just because Gabriel or some other horrible git told you to. I love it. I really, really, do."

Aziraphale stared in shock for a moment. Then he unwound Crowley's arms and wrapped his own around him. He brought him in for a big hug before kissing him on the cheek, making Crowley wriggle as Down There grew fit to burst. His body grew cold and wiggly all over, and it took everything he had to stay in human form.

"Thank you," Aziraphale whispered. He kissed his cheek again, running a hand through his hair. Crowley prayed he'd do more _more more more_ , but he simply pat him on the back and pulled away before getting up to put his clothes on.

"I'm going to bring back some breakfast from the buffet and then head to the pool and hot tub. What do you say?"

"Mm." Crowley couldn't say anything. As soon as Aziraphale was gone, he leapt from the bed and into the bathroom. He wet a washcloth with cold water and rubbed it between the flaps, taking deep breaths until the heat subsided.

He wanted to be with Aziraphale more than he'd ever wanted anything. But the closer they got, the more he felt like something Down There was going to explode. And he wasn't sure he wanted it to.

* * *

Even better than the _Queen Victoria_ 's casino, restaurant, and art gallery was her Aquatics Center up on the deck. A water park with colorful slides took center stage. Off to the side was a wave pool, hot tub, kiddie pool, and lounge chairs with cabanas for those who could afford them.

Crowley and Aziraphale spent an hour relaxing in the hot tub before moving to the wave pool, where they bobbed up and down and listened to the beach music playing from the speakers. Occasionally the music was drowned out by the screams of those going down the slides.

"Bit ridiculous, that," he said, nodding to the screams. "They don't look any worse than the stuff you see at playgrounds."

"Most of them, yes. But there is that one." Aziraphale pointed to the tallest slide of them all, which was so steep it was practically a ninety-degree angle. Riders crossed their arms over their chest, ankles over feet, and squeezed their eyes shut as the rushing water took them down a long way. Over a hundred and twenty feet, according to the sign.

"Ahh," Crowley said, smiling. "That looks fun."

Aziraphale shuddered. "Not really."

Crowley grinned wickedly. He grabbed Aziraphale's arm and pulled. "Come on."

"Why? Where are we going?"

"To have a little fun." Crowley led them out of the water and around the corner. They barely got within fifteen feet of the slide before Aziraphale stopped in his tracks.

"Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, _no_."

"Come on! Weren't you just saying you were glad I introduced you to new things?"

"If you're so interested in new things, why don't you go on?"

"I will if you do." When Aziraphale continued shaking his head, Crowley began to bargain. "I'll let you have the first shower when we get back to the room."

"No."

"I'll get us front-row seats at the show tonight."

"No. I am _not_ going down that monster of a slide."

Crowley brought out his ace. "I'll do all of that _and_ make you a sundae at the ice cream buffet so you can eat it on the balcony with a book."

Aziraphale hesitated. "And you'll go on after me?"

"Absolutely." Crowley had wanted to anyway; he had just _also_ wanted someone to compare the experience with.

Aziraphale gulped. "All right."

"There's a good lad." Crowley pat his back and stood behind him as they took their places in line. "Can't wait to try it out."

Another rider zipped down the slide, screaming all the way. The splash when they landed was so big that some of the droplets fell on the people in the queue.

"It looks awfully fast," Aziraphale said, wringing his hands together.

"Exactly! It'll be over before you know it." Crowley slapped him on the back. "Oh, look!" He pointed in front of them. "You're up next."

Aziraphale moved slowly up the stairs to where the attendant was readying the rider ahead. He began to whisper prayers under his breath.

As soon as the rider went down, the attendant pointed to the beginning of the slide. Aziraphale sat on top of it, whimpering all the way. Crowley stood close by.

"Don't worry. I'll be right behind you."

Aziraphale turned to look at him. To Crowley's surprise, he actually smiled. "You always are, aren't you?"

Crowley matched his smile. "Right," he said with a nod. "And I always will be."

Aziraphale nodded and seemed calmer as the attendant instructed him to cross his arms and ankles. Once he'd done so and taken a deep breath, he plunged down the slide and into the rushing waters, screaming a high-pitched scream all the way down until he _splashed_ into the bottom. The attendant watched him climb out and then motioned for Crowley to follow.

The ride down was fast and deafening with water filling his ears, but that didn't stop Crowley from cheering and whooping as he slid to the bottom. He was soaked, tired, and immeasurably happy.

Aziraphale offered a gentle hand to help him out.


	17. La Segrada Familia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've never been to La Segrada Familia or Park Guell, I recommend looking them up in Google Images or on YouTube before reading this chapter so you can get an idea of where Aziraphale and Crowley are. The cathedral and park really are unlike any other, and I consider myself extremely lucky to have had the opportunity to visit both.

Barcelona was one of the most beautiful cities Aziraphale had ever been to, captivating him and Crowley so much that neither said a word as they disembarked and walked down La Rambla, the busy path full of vendors and colorful architecture. The cool, sweet scent of gelato drifted down the lane, tempting their taste buds and causing Aziraphale to waste no time in buying a cone. Street performers entertained them with accordions and guitars as tour buses rolled by, reminding them of London. Every culture seemed to be represented in the restaurants that surrounded La Rambla, from Turkish and Lebanese to Greek, American, Italian, Chinese, Japanese, and even some from back home. Expensive shops towered on every corner. Hundreds of pedestrians chatted in Catalan, Spanish, English, and a few other languages here and there.

"Certainly looks a lot different than the last time I saw it," Aziraphale said between licks of gelato. "But then, that _was_ over four hundred years ago."

"You need to get out of London more often," Crowley told him. "We both do. Hell, I haven't been to Germany since that time in the church, and I hear it's much better now. We should go visit everywhere and see how they've modernized for the new century."

"Indeed," Aziraphale agreed. "Though I doubt they've all turned out as nice as this."

"Yeah, not everywhere can be a Barcelona." Crowley smiled fondly at a pickpocket swiping the wallet of an unsuspecting tourist right out of his back pocket. "Any place that's a big city is my kind of scene."

"There's certainly nothing like the culture. Art and museums and entertainment." Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the wallet appeared back in the pocket, making the thief stare at his empty hand in shock and Crowley pout adorably. To distract him, Aziraphale asked, "So. What would you like to do in this beautiful big city? We could go to the beach or look at some of the world's most famous works of art. Or try the local cuisine."

Crowley shrugged. "I dunno. We've been on the road for so long, I sorta feel like we've done everything already. Beaches, resorts, restaurants, carnivals, shopping around, the mountains, gardens, cruise ships. Can't think of much we haven't done. At least, nothing we couldn't do back home." He turned to Aziraphale. "What do you want to do, Angel?"

Aziraphale took a big bite of his cone to avoid answering. When he was finally forced to swallow, he said, "Well. There is one thing I definitely want to do, but I know you're not going to like it. Perhaps we'd be better off finding a place to stay first. Then we can split up and meet back there later."

"What is it? You never know, I might surprise you."

Biting his lip, Aziraphale told him. "La Segrada Familia."

"La what now?"

"La Segrada Familia. It's a new church that's been under construction for years. They're still working on it." Seeing Crowley's face fall, he quickly added, "But it's supposed to be like no other church in the world. Built to honor Antoni Gaudí i Cornet, a famous architect from Barcelona." He had read about it in the papers and had always wanted to see it for himself someday.

Crowley groaned, just like Aziraphale knew he would. "A _church?_ Really?"

"See, I knew you wouldn't like it. That's why I thought it better I go alone."

They walked on for a few more minutes, then Crowley gave a resigned sigh and said, "I'll try it."

Aziraphale stopped. "Really? You will?"

"Yeah."

"But my dear fellow, we both know what walking around in a church does to you."

"True, but you said this one's under construction. There's a chance its holy effect isn't in place yet or isn't as strong as it normally would be. Figure it's worth a shot, right?"

_What a sweetheart._ How many other people—or angels or demons—would have offered to do something that might hurt them just to make another person happy? Aziraphale wanted to toss his gelato to the wind and throw both arms around Crowley to pull him close and kiss him forever. Alas, they were in public, so he settled for thanking him sweetly and steering them both toward La Segrada Familia.

He decided then and there that Crowley had done enough sacrificing in this relationship. _He does little favors and acts of kindness for me all the time, but how often have I done them for him?_ he thought. _And even when I have done something for him, it was usually because I received something in return, as per the Arrangement._

Somehow, he was going to do something for Crowley. Something big. He didn't know what yet (the garden was a likely possibility), but he knew it was going to be soon.

* * *

"Here it is." Aziraphale was breathless. Even Crowley seemed at a loss for words as they both stood before the one and only La Segrada Familia. The beige pointed towers dwarfed the trees around them and reached far into the sky. Cranes and other construction equipment surrounded them, and crowds gazed in awe. There was even more to admire up close. Details of saintly figures in Christianity and Catholicism, of balconies and angels (highly inaccurate ones, Crowley noted with a laugh) and patterns etched into the design.

"Huh," Crowley said. Aziraphale was satisfied to hear he actually sounded impressed. "The things these humans can build when they put their mind to it."

"Especially when there's divinity involved," Aziraphale said. "After all, there's a reason some of the most beautiful and long-lasting architectural structures in the world were religious in nature." Seeing that Crowley was starting to tune him out, he quickly added, "And it's even better inside! Come on, let's hurry and get our tickets."

The queue was quite long, and more than once Crowley began to growl in impatience. "We're not stealing tickets from a church, and that's final," Aziraphale told him, somewhat absentmindedly. He was so entranced with the cathedral that he never tired of studying it. Every new surface and corner seemed to have another detail he'd missed. Even though it wasn't finished, it still managed to have the same soothing effect on him that others did, one of calm and tranquility, a feeling that all was right with the world and he would always be safe here in God's home. He only wished Crowley could feel the same. Which he was clearly not. He was shifting around muttering blessings under his breath and trying not to lash out at people who wasted precious time digging through their purses and pockets for credit cards, extra change, and IDs.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said softly. He took his hand and stroked it, closing his eyes. Maybe if he focused hard, he could transfer just a little bit of what he was feeling.

Shockingly, it seemed to work. Crowley closed his own eyes and even leaned into Aziraphale. "Mm, sorry," he murmured. "I feel better now."

The utter peace on his face made Aziraphale's heart melt. Perhaps there was some holiness in this fallen angel yet. That bit of holiness might have even had an outward effect, because wouldn't you know it, their turn at the ticket booth had finally come.

"Two, please," Aziraphale said, and whipped out the exact amount of cash in seconds. The moment the tickets touched his hand, he led Crowley to the entrance and started inside.

"Oh, my goodness." His mouth fell open. He he could feel his eyes start to shine. "It's…"

"Beautiful" wasn't enough. For the first time Aziraphale could remember, words were failing him, and not just in English. He knew Hebrew, Aramaic, Latin, the Language of the Angels, and dozens of words and phrases in other languages besides. None of them could accurately describe what he was seeing. One minute inside La Segrada Familia assured him no church, no cathedral, no _anything_ could possibly compare.

Towering columns clustered together like trees in a forest toward a roof that reminded Aziraphale of sunflowers on a summer day. They made him feel small and extremely unimportant, though not in a bad way. White spiral staircases climbed high next to stained glass windows that were practically floor to ceiling and shining with all the colors of the rainbow. One side was blue, another red, and another green. There was even a rainbow tunnel ahead where colorful light led the way, contrasting gorgeously with the white background. In the center of the cathedral were pews and people, sitting or walking around taking photos. Sculptures of Jesus, the crucifixion, the nativity, the wise men, Judas's betrayal, and others held the attention of many, with some kneeling and praying and others listening to tour guides tell them about it.

"W—ow! You're right, never seen a church like this before. Ow! Fuck." Crowley winced as he danced up to stand by Aziraphale's side.

"Please, don't use foul language in such a sacred place."

"Can't help it. Ah! Still hurts. Hurts as much as it ever did." Crowley turned away. Aziraphale noticed he'd put his shades on before entering the building. He hopped about from foot to foot, attracting stares, laughs, and more than a few glares from people around him.

"I'm sorry it hurts," Aziraphale said,. "I wish there was a way I could stop it."

"Well, I'll try to ignore it," Crowley replied, gritting his teeth. "Maybe I'll get used to it after a while. Or my feet will become numb. One or the other."

Aziraphale took his hand and led him to the center of the cathedral. "Can you believe that human beings made this on their own? To say it's a marvel might be the understatement of the century."

"Ow—Yeah, they're clever buggers," Crowley hissed, leaning against Aziraphale for support. He was trembling.

"Oh, I don't know where to explore first. There's the Gaudí House Museum, where the good gentleman himself once lived. Then there's the gift shop where we could pick up some souvenirs. Ah, but especially those sculptures. Here, Crowley, let's get a better look." He helped Crowley over to the depictions of the holy figures. Before they'd even got halfway, Crowley cried out in pain and bolted away from Aziraphale, rushing out of the cathedral and into the sunlight.

_Gosh, he must have been in even more pain than I realized,_ Aziraphale worried, hurrying out after him. He felt as though he was falling more in love with every step.

_He tried so hard to tough it out for me, despite what it was doing to him._

Crowley was panting in exhaustion just outside the building, sitting against the side and holding his feet with a pained expression. Sweat slid down his face. He hung his head over his knees, closing his eyes behind his shades.

"Hey." Aziraphale sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. Suppose we were wrong about the construction, weren't we?"

Crowley didn't answer. He just looked away. "Thought I could handle it, but the closer we got to those sculptures, the worse it burned. Just hurt too much." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Angel."

"Oh sweetheart, don't be. It's not your fault."

"There are those who would disagree with you on that," Crowley muttered.

"Fuck 'em." When Crowley's head shot up in shock, Aziraphale laughed. "Hey, we're not in the cathedral anymore, are we?" He put an arm around Crowley. "I do appreciate you being willing to give it a try for me. That was very kind of you."

"Not really," he said, looking down again. "You were right, Angel. This place _is_ beautiful. The rainbow lights, the designs, the colors and pictures. I wanted to see it too. Wanted to see all of it." He shrugged. "Take lots of pictures for me, I guess."

"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale squeezed his shoulder. "I couldn't possibly leave you out here all by yourself."

He lifted his head. "Yes, you can. I want you to. You shouldn't have to miss out on the one thing you really wanted to do in Barcelona because of me." He removed Aziraphale's arm and carefully stood up. "Go on. I'll be fine out here. The pain's going away now. In a few minutes, I'll be able to walk around the block and get us some lunch. Or if nothing else, I'll just wait out here."

Aziraphale stood up as well. He gave his friend a firm, hard look. "No, Crowley. You won't."

"What do you mean I—whoa, what the—put me down!"

"I've made up my mind. We go in together or not at all," Aziraphale told him in no uncertain terms, bouncing him higher in his arms. "What do you say? Care for a ride?"

Crowley was blushing fiercely, eyes so big they were even visible behind his shades. His body began to wiggle. A few seconds later, passerby screamed at the snake in Aziraphale's arms. He quickly miracled away the memory, and by the time he'd finished, Crowley was in human form again.

"Sorry," he said, not meeting Aziraphale's eyes. "It, um. Happens."

"I see." Aziraphale held him closer. He sensed Crowley didn't want to talk about it, so he changed the subject. "What would you say to a tour by Aziraphale?"

Crowley hunched his shoulders and kicked his legs weakly from where they dangled over Aziraphale's arm. "I'd say you've gone completely mad, and you're going to throw out your back pulling a stunt like this."

"Splendid! I'll take that as a yes." He returned to the inside of La Segrada Familia, carrying Crowley bridal style all the way. The silly idiot seemed terrified, head turning every which way and clinging to Aziraphale's shoulders.

"Crowley, relax. I've got you." Aziraphale tightened his grip to prove it. "I was the guardian of the eastern gate, if you'll recall. They don't give that job to wimpy weaklings." It also helped that Crowley barely ate and had legs that were skinny as sticks, but that part wasn't necessary to voice out loud.

Crowley smiled and slowly, trustingly, leaned his head against Aziraphale's chest. "You're amazing, you are," he said quietly.

"Thank you. Now, where shall we go first?"

* * *

"I still can't believe you did that," Crowley said once Aziraphale had set him down outside. "Do you have any idea how many people were staring at us?"

"What does that matter?" Aziraphale stretched his arms, soothing the aches and cramps he'd gotten. "I had a good time. And it seemed to me that you did too."

Crowley shrugged, a little shyly. "Yeah. Wish all churches looked like that. Though I guess for my sake it's a good thing they don't."

"If they all did, they wouldn't be as special," Aziraphale said. He dusted his hands on his trousers. "Now then. I've worked up an appetite. Where should we go for lunch?"

Crowley started to answer, then stopped to think about something. "You know, I just realized…"

"Yes?"

"We never did go for a picnic, did we?"

It took Aziraphale a minute to realize what he meant. Then he remembered. _Perhaps one day we could, I don't know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz._

"Ah, you're right. We've dined at the Ritz plenty of times, but we haven't yet gone for a picnic."

"Right. So I was thinking, um." He looked around like he was nervous. "Maybe instead of going to a restaurant, this time we could go to a market and pick up some food to take on a picnic. There's supposed to be a really impressive park in this city, too. Park Guell, I think it's called, by that same Gaudí chap. We could go there."

"That's a wonderful idea. Especially with this weather." Aziraphale closed his eyes and smiled as the sunny breeze kissed his face. He imagined himself and Crowley on a patch of beautiful green grass, listening to birds and squirrels and conversing uninterrupted; no server coming between them and no bill to pay at the end. "You know, I can think of nothing I'd rather do."

"Great. I'll look up the nearest market and directions to Park Guell." Crowley took off his shades, pulled out his phone, and started typing away on it. Before long, he and Aziraphale were off to the local grocery store. They stuffed their bags full with as many snacks, treats, and bottled drinks as they could carry. Then they boarded a bus that took them close by, after which they hiked the rest of the way toward the prettiest park they had ever seen.

"Damn," Crowley said. "This puts every one of those places around the farm to shame. And that's saying something."

"Gaudí was a true talent," Aziraphale said, admiring the multicolored mosaics. Park Guell was as unique as La Segrada Familia, and full of the architect's trademark style. Aziraphale thought it was like walking through a faraway land in a fairy tale, or an illustration in a Dr. Seuss book. Twisted columns and cave-like structures greeted them as they walked up the stairs toward the wide-open spaces. He hoped they'd be able to find a spot away from all of the crowds and was prepared to miracle it so if need be.

Fortunately, he was spared the trouble. The crowds were thinner on a Friday morning and he was able to scope out a neat little place for a picnic right away. They set down their basket and sat together under the sun, unloading all the food they'd brought.

Aziraphale sighed happily. "It simply doesn't get better than this." He bit into an apple and shut his eyes. "Good food, beautiful weather, a lovely park, and great company." He smiled at Crowley.

"You could say that about most of this trip, save the park," he said.

"True," Aziraphale admitted. He lay on his back and watched Crowley do the same. Something occurred to him. "What's been your favorite part of the trip?" he asked. He expected Crowley to say riding the Wicked Twist of Fate or driving the jet ski. Maybe the garden.

"Honestly?" Crowley blinked and moved just a little closer. "Being with you." He said, more clearly, "I mean that."

Aziraphale could have squeezed the breath out of him for that alone. Still, something puzzled him. "But you were with me in London. And you said you felt like you were missing something, remember?"

"I was. I was missing this." He gently took hold of Aziraphale's hand, stroking it with his thumb. "Something's changed. It's different now. Better." Looking nervous, he asked, "Don't you feel it?"

_Thank God._ It wasn't just in Aziraphale's head. He wasn't overthinking it. If Crowley felt it too, that meant it was real.

He found he couldn't speak above a whisper. "We're more than friends now, aren't we?"

Crowley squeezed his hand. "Yeah. I don't know how or when it happened. But you've become much more than a friend to me. I miss London, but the thought of going back to separate homes…it just makes me feel…" He breathed deeply. "Some of the best parts of this trip have been in the hotel rooms."

"The hotel rooms?" He would have thought Crowley had found those parts to be the most boring.

"Well, I don't mean I haven't enjoyed the other bits. I have, with a few exceptions, like me getting hurt and some of our camping mishaps, but…yeah." Aziraphale heard a quiver in his voice. "The part I loved most was going home to a place that wasn't mine or yours. It was _ours_."

Peace settled over Aziraphale. He knew what he had to do, both now and when they returned. The thought gave him courage.

"Then that's how we'll go home."

He basked in Crowley's beautiful, brilliant smile, and placed his other hand on his cheek. Holding him still, he came closer and closed his eyes.

_Time to initiate._

Their first kiss was better than he'd ever imagined.

Crowley was soft and gentle. His hand came up to cradle the back of Aziraphale's head and he felt like he was soaring. They kissed long and slow, with Crowley being surprisingly shy, like he wasn't sure he was allowed to do this. Yet he didn't hesitate to come closer, clinging to him and making soft little sounds that had Aziraphale kissing harder. He had waited so long to do this, and now he couldn't do it enough.

_I won't waste one more moment,_ he decided. _Not one more._ To hell with angels and demons and even God Herself. The only person Aziraphale needed was right here. And the moment they got back to London, he was going to give him everything he ever wanted.

Suddenly he didn't want to wait. He needed to prove to Crowley and to himself that he _wasn't_ selfish, that he could give Crowley everything he wanted and more.

"Let's go home tomorrow," he said. "Please?" Crowley's eyes widened, but he nodded.

He pulled Crowley toward him and hugged him tightly to his chest, wrapping his coat around him as if to protect him. His chin rested on Crowley's head as he stroked his back.

"I love you," he whispered into his ear. "I've loved you a long, long time."

"Even though I'm a demon?"

"Yes."

"Even though I…turn into a snake sometimes?"

He kissed the top of his head. "All part of your charm."

Hands gripped his shirt. A full minute passed before Crowley said, "When you first spoke to me in Eden and told me you'd given away your sword, I knew you were special. And then when the storm came and you put up your wing, I—I felt something. Something I never had before. Every time I saw you, that feeling came back. Just kept growing more and more until it hurt, and…" Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale's chest.

"To be honest, saying I love you doesn't feel like enough. But it's true." He moved his arms around Aziraphale and squeezed him back. "You're my whole world. When I think of eternity, I think of you."

Aziraphale brushed away a tear and smiled. "Well then. If we've both loved each other that long, it sounds like we have some catching up to do." He kissed Crowley's head again. "What do you say we start making up for lost time?"

Crowley moved his head up as Aziraphale gently rolled them to the right so he was on top of him. His heartbeat was frantic, but his body was at peace. He pressed his lips to his love's until Crowley's head lay back in the soft grass. Though Aziraphale felt he could never give him the affection he deserved, he planned to spend every second of their endless lives together trying.


	18. Homeward Bound

The best day and night of Crowley's life were quickly followed by the most awkward morning of his life. Sleeping in the same bed with Aziraphale was one thing. Waking up next to him on the last day of their trip was another. He hadn't known what to say when Aziraphale had suggested going home. He couldn't exactly say no, could he? Yet he was beginning to regret saying yes.

"Oh good, you're awake," Aziraphale said. Crowley was disappointed to see he was already dressed. He liked the coziness of early morning snuggles in soft pajamas. Then again, he supposed that was difficult when one of them was a morning person and the other a night owl.

"Mm, unfortunately. Was one of the nicest sleeps of my life."

"Glad to hear it. But we're both going to have to get a bit of a wiggle-on if we want to beat the traffic and avoid being charged for another night's stay." He patted Crowley's shoulder. "Come on, get up. Must be on our way now."

Crowley groaned. _Why is he in such a rush?_ It was their last morning of holiday. Shouldn't they enjoy it as much as they could? Still, he obliged him by sitting up and stretching. When he opened his eyes, he was taken aback to see that the whole room had been tidied and both of their suitcases were packed. Except for Crowley's bed, it was as if they had never been there at all.

"Took the liberty of doing yours as well, but I set out clothes for you," Aziraphale said, pointing to a pile folded neatly on a chair. "All you need to do is change and throw your sleepwear into the suitcase. I'll take them both down while you have your breakfast. It's on the table there." A tray of fruit and cereal boxes sat waiting with a mug of coffee.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" he asked, puzzled and slightly hurt. He had imagined them slowly waking up in each other's arms. Maybe having a repeat of yesterday's affections before brushing each other's hair and then going out for a nice, leisurely breakfast at a café. Not eating cereal alone in the hotel room while Aziraphale carried out their bags.

Aziraphale shrugged. "Well, it's just, we've been away for so long and I miss my bookshop. I miss all of London, really. This is the longest I've ever been away from it since the city was founded."

"Yeah, but it's not like it's going anywhere." Crowley ran his hands through his hair, trying to comb it with his fingers. "We could take our time getting back."

"Oh, but I'm _so_ anxious to see my books again. I've read all the ones I brought with me and then some. And this is about the time of year when Albert Hall and the Globe will be releasing their new seasons. I should hate to be away from London for too much longer, you know?"

"M'kay." Crowley kept his gaze on the clothes as he walked over to pick them up. After yesterday, he had no doubt Aziraphale loved him, but now he wondered what that really meant. Angels were technically _beings_ of love, after all, so it was his nature to love everything and anything. And he did. Crowley could hardly count the number of things Aziraphale loved deeply and passionately. Books, classical music, food, wine, hot cocoa, theater, art, old black and white films, prophecies, magic tricks, clothes, animals, nature, people, and of course, the Earth itself. Where was Crowley on that list? Did he come before books or after them? Where was he in relation to the bookshop? He wasn't sure, and he knew there was no way Aziraphale would give him an honest answer. He was a pleaser. He would tell Crowley what he thought he wanted to hear, just like he always used to do with the angels.

Crowley changed in the bathroom (silly, he knew, but he wasn't comfortable being naked in front of Aziraphale yet) and tried not to feel nervous. If Aziraphale was in such a hurry to get home because of his bookshop, did that mean he'd be spending all his time there? What if they fell into the same tired and lifeless routine as before, when Aziraphale spent all of his time reading and Crowley had to all but beg for his attention? What if the only way they could ever spend time together was either at a restaurant or a show?

He couldn't go back to that. It was like a long, slow, painful rejection. If it came to that, he'd rather Aziraphale just end whatever this was quickly and get it over with. His fingers shook as he buttoned his trousers.

_Something has to change when we get back,_ he thought. _I don't know what, but something._ Then it occurred to him. _Maybe one of us could move. He'll never give up his bookshop in a million years, but he might not mind me being there._ Crowley had never cared that much about his own flat. It was more a place to park the Bentley and stash all the mementos he'd collected over the centuries than a real home. When he thought of home, he thought of the bookshop.

_Would he let me move in?_

Crowley tried to imagine it. He wouldn't like how crowded it was all the time and wished it could have a garden, but maybe with a little celestial magic, they could expand it. Not exactly stylish décor, but give it time. He could even have an office or something decorated the way he liked. Aziraphale could have all the rest. He couldn't say no to that, right?

_Use_ MY _bookshop?_

Crowley sighed. Who was he kidding? Aziraphale guarded that bookshop with his life. It was his sanctuary. He would never let anyone live there, not even Crowley.

"I'll be back in a jiffy!" Aziraphale called out from behind the door. "Taking some of the suitcases down now!"

"Fine," Crowley said. When he heard the door close, he shut his eyes and said to himself, "Please let things be different this time. Let _us_ be different this time."

* * *

The drive home was somehow both much shorter and interminable to Crowley. He could barely concentrate on the road for how apprehensive he was. Aziraphale, of course, nagged him endlessly to _Slow down! Watch the road! You can't pass here! Could you please take the turns a little more gently?_ Then when Crowley did slow down (partly to extend their time together) Aziraphale hinted that while speed limits were meant to be obeyed, they were permitted to go slightly faster than Brother Snail and Sister Slug.

"Should let you drive some time since you seem to be so damn good at it," Crowley snapped. "Always knowing exactly what to do and not do."

"I merely know and adhere to the rules of the road," Aziraphale said, sitting stiffly and staring ahead. There was no music this time, no breeze blowing in their hair. "I'll have you know I've read the London driver's code of conduct no less than four times."

"Really? I never would have guessed." Crowley gripped the wheel harder. The morning's breakfast, hurriedly eaten, was turning in his stomach. If he didn't find out what was going to happen between them soon, he thought he might explode.

_Damn insatiable curiosity,_ he thought grimly. _Been getting me in trouble since Day One._

* * *

After a long and increasingly awkward and silent drive through long, winding roads, signs for London began to appear. Aziraphale poked his head out the window, smiling as the scenery became familiar again. He had such a fond look on his face that Crowley would have loved under different circumstances. What if that smile meant he was glad to be home so he could finally get away from Crowley? What if he was sick of him and desperate to be alone with his books?

The countryside turned to cityscape. Horns honked. Buildings towered over them. Pedestrians chatted. Sirens blared. Crowley had to struggle not to break the steering wheel from squeezing it so hard. Then he thought of something.

What if he drove them both back to his own place? After all, they'd never actually said anything about going straight to the bookshop. And Crowley's flat had a bed big enough for two—

"Where are you going?" Aziraphale turned to him, concerned. "The bookshop's that way." He pointed in the opposite direction.

"Oh. You mean, er, that's where you wanted to go?" Crowley was glad he'd thought to put his shades on before starting up the car.

"Obviously. Where else would I go?" Aziraphale fidgeted, glancing out the window. "I should be very happy if you would take me there, please," he said. As if Crowley were his fucking cab driver.

_Obviously. Where else would I go?_ Crowley's flat hadn't even occurred to him. Might as well not even exist.

_Fine._ Crowley turned the car around and drove them toward Soho. He'd leave the angel there with his stupid bloody books so he could read and pretend nothing had happened yesterday.

Or at least, that's what he told himself until he pulled up to the curb of A.Z. Fell & Co. The second Aziraphale saw his home and lit up in that special way of his, all of Crowley's anger melted, leaving nothing but worry.

"Ah, home sweet home," Aziraphale said. "So nice to be back, don't you think?" He unbuckled his seat belt and put his hand on the door.

"Here, let me help you." Crowley quickly turned the car off and scrambled out. "You've got a lot to bring in."

"Oh. Thank you." They heaved all five suitcases, the picnic basket, _The_ _Hobbit_ , the extra books Aziraphale had bought to read to Crowley—he felt a deep ache carrying them, wondering if they'd ever read together again—and the much beloved Harry the Rabbit, who had gotten squished under all of the luggage. When everything was inside and the boot was closed again, Aziraphale turned to Crowley.

"I appreciate the help immensely, dear."

"Yeah, 'course."

They stood there, silent. Crowley couldn't stand it. _Please invite me in. Please. Or ask to stay at my place, I don't care. Just don't let things go backwards. Please._

"Well, this has been a wonderful trip," Aziraphale said, squeezing his hands together. "I'm…very glad we got to take it together."

"Same here," Crowley said. He kept his hands in his pockets so no one could see them trembling.

"Thank you for dropping me off. Um. I have a few things to take care of, but I'll be in touch with you soon." He nodded. "Take care."

Crowley wanted to scream. Scream and kick and throw something and beat his fists against the wall until it crumbled.

Aziraphale turned to go back inside. Just as he was closing the door, Crowley made a strangled noise. It didn't sound like anything, maybe the "Ang" in "angel." He hadn't meant to make it. Aziraphale turned around. Stopped for a moment.

"Ah." He turned around. For a minute, one glorious minute, Crowley's hopes began to rise. _He's coming back to invite me in. To tell me it was all a joke and of course he isn't going to leave me out here like this. To ask if I want to have lunch somewhere—_

"Suppose I should give you a proper goodbye, shouldn't I?" He wrapped one arm around Crowley and pulled him close for about ten seconds, patting him on the back in what was such a rushed and half-arsed hug it was insulting. He gave him one more pat on the shoulder and said, "There we go. Much better." Such a satisfied tone.

"See you later, drive safely now!" He hurried back to the door.

It locked behind him.

Shades drawn.

Closed sign up.

Aziraphale was gone.

Crowley stood there watching the shop door for a long time. His lips began to quiver. His vision blurred. That familiar burning, choking feeling was back, fighting its way up his throat, and he almost didn't stop it. He almost said to heaven with it and sank to his knees and wailed.

But he didn't. He had spent six thousand years not crying, and he wasn't going to start now. Crowley took deep breaths, rubbed his eyes hard with his knuckles, pushed his shades up as far as they would go, and walked back to the car. He opened the door and slid back in. Started the engine. Shifted into drive. The ride to his flat was silent. He went as fast as he damn well pleased.

He calmly parked the car and retrieved his suitcase and blanket from the boot. Calmly walked into the building, took the lift up to his floor, opened the door to his flat, closed and locked it, and set the suitcase down.

Then he lost it.

"FUCK!" he yelled, kicking his suitcase across the room. "Fuck this and fuck him and _fuck. You._ " He pointed to the ceiling. "You did this, didn't you?" He kicked the wall. "And I knew it. I fucking _knew_ it was too good to be true." He had to stop and wipe his eyes before taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I knew we would never happen. But it still hurts." He shook his head. "Hurts worse than _anything_."

The one bright spot in this shitty situation was that Crowley knew exactly how to make the hurt go away. He marched over to his stainless steel refrigerator, took out as many bottles of wine as he could carry, and chugged every last one of them, stopping only to take breaths. It took a while, but with every sip, the hurt became fuzzier and blurrier until it dulled. Feeling lightheaded already and belching loudly, Crowley stumbled over to his bed and collapsed onto it, wincing as the wine sloshed in his stomach.

"He doesn't love me. She doesn't love me. I don't love me. Nobody loves me." Crowley took another sip. "Love isn't real. 'S like a mermuh—mermuh—fish people. Lotsa stories but no truth." He glared at the ceiling. "No truth! Just lies. Lossa lies."

A few more sips, and he was babbling, not even knowing what he was saying and not caring since there was no one around to hear him. There probably never would be.

"All I wanned wuz to fuckin' _know_ ," he said, blinking bleary eyes. "Jus' _somethin'_ to lemme know fer sure how he felt about me. Thas not unreasonable, is it? Jus' a little inishu-nishu—action—on his part so I don't have to do _every_ fuckin' thing. He gimme a sign, and I be like, okay, I get it now, you do care. He don't care."

The last drops of the bottle tasted damn good. Crowley hiccuped, and continued on with even less clue what he was saying, but that was okay. He wouldn't remember any of this anyway.

He sat up and began to speak, very wisely, he felt, to his wall. "'Zira's like a, whaddya call it, big blue ball thingy with the green stuff all over it? He's that. Fer me. All I want, that. If I could have him, I'd have the whole blue ball. He's my blue ball." He nodded sagely. Yes, that made sense. "Is all I want, just him. Aziraphale." It occurred to him that maybe he should tell someone that.

Pushing himself dizzily to his feet and struggling to see through drunken eyes, Crowley shouted at the top of his lungs "I WANT 'ZIRA-FAIL!"

"AND _WE_ WANT TO GET SOME GODDAMN SLEEP, SO SHUT THE FUCK UP!" a voice on the other side of the wall yelled.

"No, _YOU_ SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Crowley yelled back, then screamed as he fell backwards onto his bed. Nice bed. Big bed. Warm bed. He and an angel had been on a bed just like this one. It had been nice. He had been nice. Crowley sniffled.

"Jus' need _something_ ," he said, sniffing harder. "Something that says he likes me. He doesn't hafta love me, nobody loves me, but if I could have a sign that says he likes me, maybe almost as much as his books or the buh--the buh--place where he keeps the books, I'll be happy." He nodded. "Yeah. I'll be happy." His eyes were closing. Heavens, he had never been this drunk. His stomach gurgled and groaned in protest at being drowned in wine. Crowley rubbed it. He wished Aziraphale were here to rub it instead. To hold him, hug him, make him feel good. Make him feel like he was worth something.

"Miss you," he said, closing his eyes and drifting off. "I miss you…I love you…I miss you…I love you…"


	19. The Very First Day of Their New Life

At last, the moment Aziraphale had been waiting weeks for had arrived: giving Crowley a gift that was worthy of him. He filed away the contracts, deeds, and papers, locked the doors, and nearly ran to one of the few pay phones left in England.

"Crowley?" he asked breathlessly as soon as the ringing stopped.

"Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do, do it with style."

"Oh _please_ , Crowley, please pick up!" He didn't think he could stand it if he had to wait one more day. "Please, I'm begging you. It's important." Nothing. He held the phone closer to his ear. "Crowley, I know you're there." He didn't know that actually, not for an absolute fact. But he had a strong feeling. "I need to talk to you. Rather, I need to show you something."

He heard some rustling, and then a very drained, exhausted, moody voice said, "What?"

Aziraphale frowned. "Are you all right?"

"Uh huh. Whazzit, Angel?"

"You sound…Crowley, did you get _drunk_ last night?" He clutched the receiver. Crowley only got drunk when something was really troubling him, and usually he did it with Aziraphale. What could it mean if he was drinking both heavily and alone? Had something happened?

"Aaangeeel," Crowley whined. "Whaddya _want_?" Aziraphale had never heard him like this, like he was on the verge of tears. Perhaps he should show him another time, when he was feeling better. The best thing to do right now might be to pop over to his flat and take care of him.

"You don't tell me now, I'm goin' back to bed," he said.

"Wait! Um, I have a surprise for you. I'm sure you'll love it." Aziraphale twisted the phone cord in shaky fingers. This was not at all how he'd imagined this conversation going. "I was going to ask you to meet me in the South Downs by the big lake."

"My surprise is in _South Downs_? You want me to drive all the way out to South Downs?"

"Y-you'll find out why once you get here, I promise!" Aziraphale stammered. "But if you're not feeling up to it—"

"Kay."

"Sorry, what?"

"M' coming."

"Are you sure? I can come over and help you if you're sick."

"Don't bother. Said 'm coming. Be there in an hour." The click of him hanging up startled Aziraphale before he could point out that it actually took an hour and a _half_ to drive to the South Downs from London. He shuddered to think what that implied about Crowley's driving. But at least he was coming, and that was what mattered. Hopefully he'd be sobered up by then.

Aziraphale walked down to the lake to wait for him, feeling the urgent need to pace and fuss and fret like he always did when he was nervous. What if Crowley didn't like the surprise? What if something horrible had happened to him that had driven him to drink? Aziraphale had been so certain he would love it, now he wasn't sure at all. And at this point, there was no going back.

"Well, even if he doesn't love it, I do." That calmed him a bit. Aziraphale sat by the lake and closed his eyes. The hour of waiting for Crowley gave him plenty of time to enjoy the beautiful land around him. From the cool, clear water to the hills to the soft green grass, and the sky! Oh, how Aziraphale loved the sky out here in the country. It was so much more open and gentler, and a lovely shade of blue. In London, the sky always seemed very far away, pushed back by buildings and tucked behind gray clouds. Out here, Aziraphale could actually see the sun and feel its warmth on his face. The chirping and flapping of birds were a nice change from all of the dreadful city noise, though it wasn't far away if they ever did want it. He lay back in the soft grass and had almost fallen asleep when he heard a familiar voice say, "You've conked out on me, have you?"

"Hmm? Oh, Crowley! You're here already." Aziraphale hurried to stand up, shaking his head and blinking quickly to clear away the lethargy. He was relieved to hear that Crowley was sounding sober again. "How was the drive?"

"Fine."

"Ah. Good." Aziraphale nodded. Crowley seemed strangely distant. He was wearing his sunglasses for starters, which was unusual these days, and looking everywhere but Aziraphale. His hands were in his pockets and his posture was in that defensive slouch he sometimes used around the other demons.

"So where is this surprise? Better be good for me coming out all this way."

"It is. Come with me, I'll show you." Aziraphale smiled and tried to feel excited as he reached for Crowley's hand. After some hesitation, Crowley gave it to him, gently intertwining their fingers as they walked around the bend. In a matter of seconds, what Aziraphale had worked on tirelessly for the last twenty-four hours came into view. He cleared his throat to try and settle his jittery stomach as he started the speech he had prepared.

"Crowley, um. I've been, uh, giving a lot of thought to us. Well, when I say us, you know, I mean, um, our lives. Specifically our lives together. That trip really…well, it taught me something, and changed my perspective on things. And, and, now I want to…I want to start something new. With you, I mean."

It didn't sound anything like what he'd written on his note cards. Worse, Crowley's melancholy expression didn't change. If anything, he only looked sadder.

"Well, say something!" Aziraphale blurted out. He could work with anything but silence. He didn't know what to do with silence.

Crowley finally looked him in the eye. "Did you have me drive all the way out here just to break up with me?" he asked in a voice so small and dejected it broke Aziraphale's heart.

"What? No! No, of course not!" He cupped Crowley's face in his palm. "My dear, why on earth would you think such a thing?"

He shrugged. "Yesterday, you seemed like you couldn't wait for me to leave."

_Oh gosh. That must be the reason he got drunk last night._ Aziraphale pulled him close and moved his arms to wrap around him, surprising Crowley but then relaxing him a second later. He ran his hands up and down his back and kissed his cheek, hoping he could make up for everything. What a fool he had been!

"I'm so sorry I gave off that impression, love," he said. "I'll admit I was very distracted and more than a little absent-minded as well. You see, I'd had this surprise in mind for a while, and I was extremely eager to start working on it. It practically consumed my every thought. Suppose I got so caught up in it that I wasn't thinking about how I came off." He thought back to the last day of their trip with a stab of guilt. "And I'm sorry I rushed you out of bed that morning. You were right, we should have taken our time."

"That's okay," Crowley said. Aziraphale was relieved to hear him sounding like his old self again. "Just glad to know it wasn't something I had done."

"No, of course not." Aziraphale kissed his cheek again and pushed his hair back. "I love you, remember?"

"I love you too," Crowley said, and it warmed Aziraphale's heart to hear it. He was even happier when Crowley took off his sunglasses, stowed them in his pocket, and smiled. "So. Where is this big surprise and what's the occasion?"

Aziraphale clapped his hands. "The occasion is that you are the most wonderful person I have ever known, and the surprise," he pointed to the right. "Is right there."

In front of them sat a beautiful grey cottage in the path of the afternoon rays, surrounded by wildflowers. The building was almost entirely new, with colors that gorgeously complemented the landscape.

"It's all yours, love," Aziraphale said, squeezing Crowley's hand.

"A cottage?" Crowley was puzzled. "We're renting a cottage?"

Aziraphale shook his head. " _Not_ renting. Definitely not renting."

"Then what…" He stopped. Turned to look. His eyes were wide, almost full snake. "You don't mean."

Aziraphale turned Crowley's hand so the palm was facing up. From his pocket, he took a set of keys and placed them there.

"Welcome home, Crowley."

"Home." Crowley's eyes darted from the keys to Aziraphale to the cottage and back again. "Aziraphale, did you _buy_ that cottage?"

He came closer on shaking knees and took Crowley's face in his hands. "I want a life with you, Crowley. A life where we're together in every sense of the word. One where no angel, demon, or human can bother us, and you and I can live out our retirement in peace."

"Aziraphale." He was still blinking as if he couldn't quite believe it. "We're really, we're going to live here? To move out of London and live in that cottage together?"

It was a wonder Aziraphale's knees were still holding him up. "That's what I had in mind," he said. "Unless of course, you prefer the city, but after a few hundred years, it does get—oh!"

Crowley's lips were pressed so tightly against his own that Aziraphale practically saw stars. His hand was gripping his hair to pull him close. A few moments later, their lips were red, their faces flushed, and a car passing by was honking at them.

Aziraphale took his hand. "Won't you please come inside? I can't wait for you to see it."

"It's beautiful," Crowley said, following him to the front door. "You couldn't have picked a prettier spot."

"Thank you, I like to think I have good taste."

"Well, we all have our dreams, I suppose."

"Oh, hush! Here we go." Aziraphale unlocked the door and led Crowley inside. The living room was spacious yet cozy, with sunlight pouring in from the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. A few furniture pieces from the bookshop were there. A silver banner with the message "Welcome Home, Crowley!" was taped across the wall. He grinned.

"So this is the living room, and over here is the kitchen." Aziraphale pointed to a surprisingly modern setup with stainless steel appliances and a mostly black design with tartan mitts near the oven. "There's also two bathrooms, a master bedroom, a spare room, a storage closet, and a garage for your car. Oh! And I haven't even show you the best part." He grabbed Crowley's hand and pulled him toward the sliding glass door. "Look outside."

Aziraphale was bouncing on his feet as Crowley pushed the door aside and stepped out into the backyard. It was enormous, easily the size of several bookshops. Instead of a picket fence, a wall of shrubbery surrounded it to create a natural border. Tiny trees had been planted by the previous owners, and flowers bloomed beautifully in every color. Extending a few feet from the door was a gleaming white patio with a lounge chair for reading, an outdoor sofa, a small table, and an umbrella to shade it all.

Placed just by the garden, where vibrant plants grew taller than Aziraphale and Crowley, was a telescope sitting on top of several large astronomy books.

Crowley slowed as he approached them. He ran his hand over the smooth black surface of the telescope, the best and most innovative on the market. It was pointed toward the sky, which would be filled with stars in just a few hours.

"For me?" Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath when he noticed Crowley's voice had cracked. He was blinking and swallowing a lot.

"Yes, love," he said gently. "It's all for you. So you can see all the wonders of space any time you like, without ever leaving home."

Crowley said nothing. Just continued to run his hand over the telescope and looked away. Aziraphale thought he saw his other hand go to his eyes.

"Come here, let's go sit down." He held out a hand and Crowley took it, still not meeting his gaze. Aziraphale led them to the patio sofa and sat down with Crowley leaning against him.

"Do you like it? As of today, it's all ours. We just have to furnish the inside and then we'll be all set."

Crowley was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was still shaky.

"Where on earth did you get the money for a place this big? Did Heaven start paying you celestial wages again? And what about the bookshop?" They could only miracle up so much money in small amounts at a time. Both Heaven and Hell had to put a cap on that when economies kept crumbling under excessive currency.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "I sold the bookshop."

Crowley froze. He sat still for a long minute. His mouth fell open until it was practically in his lap. "You… _what_?"

"I sold the bookshop. Fetched a very nice price, higher than I'd thought. Every penny went into this cottage"

"But you—that bookshop was your life. Your home. You put everything you had into it for two hundred years." Crowley shook his head. "Aziraphale, you _love_ that bookshop."

"I love you more."

Something broke inside Crowley. His lips quivered faster until they came apart as his mouth opened and a whimpering sob escaped. Aziraphale moved to hold him as his face crumpled and reddened, eyes closing and hands coming up to cover them before Aziraphale took them away.

"Hey, hey, it's all right," he said softly. He wrapped his arms tightly around him and held his face to his shoulder. "It's okay, sweetheart." Crowley was sniffing hard, taking huge breaths and trying so hard to choke everything back it about broke Aziraphale's heart.

"Crowley, please, just let it all out," he whispered into his hair. "You're allowed to cry. It's okay."

"'m _not_ crying!" Crowley said through a sob. "I'm not." He buried his face further into Aziraphale's shoulder, drenching it in tears that wouldn't stop. His arms were like iron grips around Aziraphale's back.

_No, of course you're not._ That was the first thought that came to Aziraphale's mind. Pretending might help Crowley's pride. But what was the point of that, he wondered. Who was he trying to be prideful for? Why was he hiding his ability to feel things?

Aziraphale closed his eyes. If there was one thing he'd learned, one lesson that even a silly old fool like himself could understand, it was that hiding how you felt and who you were never helped, no matter what the reason for doing so. He turned Crowley's face just enough to speak kindly into those shining yellow eyes.

"Yes, you are crying, Crowley." He brushed a thumb over his cheek. "And that's okay. I'm glad you can cry. It reminds me of why I love you so much. Why I love you more than anything or anyone in the Earth and all the kingdoms thereof."

Crowley turned his head again. His shoulders shook. That poor body was so tense. There had to be a way to get him to relax.

Still holding him close, Aziraphale carefully lay back, taking Crowley with him so they were lying side by side. He stroked his hair and back as he said, "Come on. Let it all out. I'll be right here."

With those words, whatever barrier Crowley had built around the emotions in his heart seemed to break. He cried out and sobbed harder than Aziraphale had heard from anyone, tears streaming down his face and onto Aziraphale's neck and shoulders. Crowley squeezed him so hard he could barely move, not that he wanted to. He could stay like this forever, holding him and murmuring comfort into his hair. Six thousand years of feelings burst from Crowley faster than he could control, taking his breath away so his throat caught and his stomach trembled.

"Good, good, I've got you, just let it out." He started rocking him like a baby, kissing wherever he could reach. "I love you, Crowley. I'm here. You're all right." With every kiss and comfort, Crowley's body seemed to loosen a little more until he was limp and worn out.

They stayed like that for hours, until Crowley was dehydrated with a sore throat and a red, puffy face with eyes he couldn't keep open. His head grew heavy on Aziraphale's chest, which was soaked through in tears. For once, he didn't mind at all that his clothes weren't clean.

"Feeling better now?"

"Yeah." Crowley forced his eyes open. "Thanks. Sorry."

"Don't even think of apologizing." He rested his hands on Crowley's back. "I'm just glad you like the house. Never imagined I'd get such a beautiful reaction from you."

"But you gave up everything," Crowley said, looking worried. "All of those books, that whole shop. I never wanted you to do that."

"I didn't give up _everything_ ," he murmured. "I kept all of the books. They're in a storage facility that specializes in handling antique items. I also kept most of the furniture and some of the lamps too. The only thing I really gave up was the building."

Crowley was still sniffing. "Hey." Aziraphale tilted his chin up to look into his eyes. "It's okay. It was just a building, that's all. Once you take away what's inside, it's nothing more than an empty shell. I'd choose you a thousand times over."

"Your— _home_ ," was all Crowley could say.

Aziraphale kissed the top of his head. "Crowley, you _are_ my home. Wherever you are is where I want to be. I wouldn't trade you for all the books and bookshops in the world."

Crowley stared at him, eyes almost filling up again. "Say that again," he whispered. "Please."

Aziraphale smiled. "Anthony J. Crowley, you are my home. Wherever you are is where I want to be. You are the sun that my world revolves around, and my love for you is greater than any book or shop or food or anything else of this world."

Crowley looked away, but it was too late. Aziraphale was already tilting his chin back. "Fuck," he said in a high, cracking voice. "Goddammit. I thought I was done crying."

"Oh, I don't think you'll be done for a long time," Aziraphale said. "Because we have all eternity to be together. And I promise you now that I will never run out of ways to tell you how special you are to me, and how much you deserve to have everything I can give you." He took Crowley in his arms again, and held him through the sunset and the arrival of the nighttime sky, full of stars they would watch together every night. After all, they finally could.

Crowley couldn't speak, but in between sobs, he managed to croak out just enough to make Aziraphale start welling up himself:

"I love you too."


	20. Ineffable Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there is adult content in this chapter!

For the rest of that week, Crowley was, as the humans put it, on fucking cloud nine.

He waved to every person he passed. He was tempted to do the silliest things like skipping down the street, twirling in his flat, singing at the top of his lungs, and bouncing on his bed. His cheeks hurt from how much he was smiling and giggling _all the damn time_. It was fucking weird. He had experimented with every drug and drink there was and none of them had ever gotten him even close to what he was feeling now. It seemed only one being in the entire universe had the power to do that.

 _Aziraphale_. The most beautiful name in the world for the most beautiful angel in the universe. Crowley sighed happily as he fell backwards onto his bed, spread out like a starfish and jiggling his legs to try and fight off the restlessness building in his body. Whenever he even thought about what had happened last week, he felt like he might burst.

They had a _home_. Not just a place to stay, but a _home_. For them and no one else. Not a headquarters for angels or demons, not a shop or storage space, but a place for them to read and garden and do everything else they loved. Aziraphale had given up his shop, his fucking _shop_ , for them and bought Crowley a top-of-the-line telescope that was the best money could buy just because he knew Crowley loved the stars and holy shit he needed to stop thinking about this or he might combust. He could hardly wait to move in.

One thing dampened his excitement just slightly, however: As far as he could tell, there was no place in the house for Aziraphale's books. That had to be part of why he'd put them in storage. Such a sad thought, all those beloved "literary masterpieces," as the angel called them, just sitting in a crate somewhere, untouched and unloved. Any time Aziraphale wanted to read them, he'd have to travel all the way over to the storage facility and dig them out. He wouldn't have that calming effect of being surrounded by stories or be able to look upon his growing collection with pride.

"He needs a library," Crowley said. "Not a shop, but a library." He had planned on building him one anyway, and now was the perfect time. They still had the furniture from the bookshop, and Crowley knew where to find the books. He had even snapped a few photos of the cruise library with his phone during a spare moment since Aziraphale had liked it so much. Lord knew he owed Aziraphale more than he could ever repay him, but giving him a library would be a good start. The only question was where to put it. The cottage wasn't nearly big enough.

There was a master bedroom—only one, he noticed, heart fluttering—a kitchen, a living room, two bathrooms, a storage closet, a garage, and…well, there _was_ a spare room, but it was tiny. Room enough only for a bed, a closet, and a dresser. Crowley doubted it would fit even a quarter of Aziraphale's books. It was clear the angel had put his efforts into the garden, garage, and kitchen, with whatever was left over going into the bedroom. Crowley guessed he didn't have enough money for anything more than that.

There was no choice, then. If Aziraphale was going to have the library he deserved, someone would have to add it on. Since Crowley's creation powers had been taken away from him after the Fall and he wanted it to be a surprise, that meant hiring humans to do it. That shouldn't be too hard, right?

He got up and rushed to empty the envelope in his drawer. After pooling his celestial wages and hustling money together and miracling up as much as he could, he hurried to the nearest computer and listed his flat for sale. While he waited for inquiries, he googled the names of builders and remodelers, writing down their numbers for quotes. He chose the best company he could find.

Though he negotiated hard, the highest price Crowley could fetch for his flat and his watch only covered around seventy-five percent of the addition. He needed more money, and fast. How to make that happen…

He could steal it, of course, but he dismissed that idea quickly. Aziraphale would never go for it, and Crowley didn't want him to have any reservations about his surprise. Crowley had worked a couple of human jobs before on assignments, but he doubted he could earn what he needed very fast.

 _There must be something else I can sell._ But what? With his flat and watch spoken for, all he had left were his houseplants (which no one would want), his astronomy book, that old statue from the church, and his painting. The latter was a possibility, he supposed, but he knew from experience that selling antique art was never easy. You had to get it tested and certified as authentic, and then you had to show it in an exhibition, and then there was the haggling, all of which could take weeks or months, and even then there was no guarantee that someone would buy it. It was such a hassle that Crowley didn't want to go that route unless there was absolutely no other option. Besides, he had been looking forward to hanging up the painting in the new house.

"Come on," he said to himself. "There must be something else. Think. You must have something." He searched his flat, cursing his minimalism. Sometimes it paid to be materialistic instead.

Crowley sighed. He was getting frustrated. Like he always did when he was getting frustrated, he reached for the keys to the Bentley.

He stopped. 

_Oh._

_That's right._

There was one more thing Crowley could sell. And it was valuable enough that it just might get him what he needed.

 _You can't!_ _How can you even think it? That's your baby. She's perfect. She's irreplaceable. They don't make cars like that anymore. You'll never find another one like her in all the world._

Crowley smiled. "I can think of someone else who's perfect, irreplaceable, and the only one of his kind in all the world." He found the pang in his chest wasn't as sharp as it might be. He had already lost her once, after all, and the world hadn't ended. Heh, pun intended.

He shrugged. "What's a car, anyway? I'll find another one that's just as stylish." An Aston Martin maybe, or a Ferrari. Hell, maybe even a Cadillac. It would be a modern car with all the latest gadgets, so he wouldn't have to miracle a CD player or Bluetooth into a thirties setup. That was a nice thought.

A nice thought he was sure as shit going to need.

* * *

It took some time on the internet, but Crowley managed to find a buyer. After uploading pictures and haggling with her over the price, they finally found a number they could agree on. It was enough to cover the rest of the addition and hire movers to transport the books.

 _Do we have a deal?_ she asked in a message. Crowley's fingers hovered over the keyboard. This was it. Once he said yes and hit send, it was done. He'd never see that beautiful Bentley again. Never drive it. Never run his hands over those fine smooth seats. He'd find another car, but he'd never find one like that.

Crowley closed his eyes. He thought of Aziraphale. Of the way he came to life and squealed like a little kid when he had a new book he was excited to read, or even just an old book he really loved and was reading again. How he could chatter on for hours about his favorite stories, characters, and authors even when no one was listening. The fun they'd had reading together. How he chewed his pillow when he slept. How he'd defended the bookshop with his life on more than one occasion, yet had given it up in a day to make Crowley happy.

There was no contest.

 _We have a deal,_ he typed. As soon as they settled on a meeting place, he was out the door.

* * *

"Wow, it's even more beautiful in person!" the buyer exclaimed, running her hand along the exterior. Crowley had to remind himself not to launch into his usual demonic rage when someone was touching his car. "You've taken better care of your car than anyone I've ever seen."

"Yup, she's meant a lot to me and my dad and granddad over the years." It certainly helped that he could miracle away any damage and the need for petrol. "You'll see she runs every bit as well now as she did when she was first made."

"Do you mind if I test drive it?"

 _YES._ Crowley's teeth clenched at the very thought of someone else driving his car while he was reduced to a lowly passenger.

But she wasn't his car anymore, and he supposed it was best to start the separation process now to make it less painful.

"Sure thing," he said, and crossed his arms as he sat in the passenger seat for the first time. It felt so odd. Every fiber of his being wanted to rush to the other side and take that familiar wheel in his hands. He had to fold his fingers into fists to keep from reaching for it.

"Oh, it handles like a dream!" she exclaimed, taking them around the block. "Works even better than my 2019 car."

"Yeah," Crowley said gloomily. "She's something special, all right."

Fortunately, the drive wasn't very long. She circled back around and parked in the same place. As soon as they were back on the sidewalk, she began digging through her purse.

"I'm very pleased with it, Mr. Crowley," she said. "Thank you so much for selling it to me."

"Yeah, sure. Glad she'll be going to someone who appreciates her." He swallowed hard, gazing at that shiny black coat. No one would ever appreciate her like he did.

"Here you are." She handed him a thick envelope stuffed with cash. He had insisted on that. Dealing with checks and credit cards was complicated when you were a demon and couldn't prove your identity.

"Thanks." He carefully put the envelope in the inside pocket of his jacket.

The woman held her hand out for the keys. Crowley hesitated. He took one last, long look at his beautiful, shiny baby. She had been with him so long. Delivered the antichrist with him. Gone through the M25's ring of fire with him. Played Queen for him. Taken him and Aziraphale all over the world.

 _Aziraphale._ He pictured his angel's face when he saw his new library. That smile and those bright eyes he loved more than anything.

That sealed the deal more than any handshake or contract ever could.

"Thank you very much," he said, grasping the woman's hand firmly. "Enjoy it. She's a good car." He ran his hand along the roof one last time and didn't look back as he hailed a cab. He listened with a lump in his throat to the familiar purr of the engine starting as the Bentley's new owner drove it away.

* * *

The worst part about selling the Bentley was that it was only half the battle. Even harder was the part where he actually got the library built and kept Aziraphale from finding out before it was finished.

According to the builders, it would take at least a month for the project to be complete. When he had first met with them at the cottage to discuss the details, they had said it would be three months. However, they had quickly changed their tune after Crowley snapped his fingers, at which point both their construction skills and their commitment drastically improved.

"Here's what I want it to look like," he said, showing them photos of the cruise library and Aziraphale's shop. Good thing he had been so paranoid about his books. Whenever he went away somewhere or London was due for some bad weather, he always photographed the inside of his shop so he could keep track of what he'd had should he lose it. He'd even made copies and shared them with Crowley as a backup. Little did he know that was about to pay off.

"Damn, that's a lot of books," the head builder said.

"Exactly, so we need a lot of space and shelving to fit all of those books. I'd like it to go right here in the same area as the kitchen, garden, and master bedroom. Can you do that?"

"Sure we can. We just need you and the other owner to sign—"

"No." Crowley was adamant. "He cannot find out. It's a surprise for when we move in."

"Sir, we're required by law to receive the expressed approval of every owner—" And suddenly every human in that room forgot what the law was and found themselves persuaded by a very convincing argument to do this project Crowley's way. Honestly, sometimes he didn't know what he would do without demonic powers.

So that was how he got the builders squared away, and he made many a trip to South Downs afterward to see how the new library was coming along. In the meantime, he worked hard to distract Aziraphale by taking care of any last formalities, finding a temporary place for them to rent since both the shop and Crowley's flat had been sold, and shopping for furniture that would somehow please them both. Modern and stylish didn't go very well with rustic and Victorian, which led to more than a few squabbles. By the time two weeks had passed, Crowley was getting desperate to move in, especially when Aziraphale tried to insist on popping down for a visit.

"We should get another look at the interior before we commit to the furniture," he said.

"We already know what the interior looks like. We have pictures."

"Oh come on, Crowley, don't you want to see it again? In your car, we can get there in half the time the train would take us."

That was another thing: trying to explain why Aziraphale never saw the Bentley anymore. "She needs a rest from all that driving on the trip," he explained lamely. He could tell Aziraphale didn't believe that for a second. "Besides, we could use the exercise, and it's a nice day out." When those excuses didn't work, he complained about traffic or parking or being tired until finally Aziraphale stopped asking.

He did not stop trying to get to South Downs, however. Finally Crowley was compelled to go down there and put a curse on the whole general area to try and keep any angelic presences away. He worried and fretted and barely slept until finally, at long last, the library was complete.

"Recreated it straight from the photos," the builders said proudly. "Exact same square feet as the old A.Z. Fell place."

"Perfect," Crowley said, grinning as he imagined Aziraphale's reaction. He paid the last bit of what he owed, and then promptly hired a moving company to get all of the books out of storage and into the library. They worked quickly as he stood watch over them with eagle eyes, ensuring they treated these antiques like the precious cargo they were. Once _they_ had left as well, Crowley got right to work.

Two hundred years with a bookworm who either couldn't or wouldn't shut up about his collection made you learn a few things. Crowley knew which sections were in alphabetical order by title, alphabetical order by author, color-coded, grouped by genre, grouped by subject matter, or arranged according to the Dewey Decimal System. Some were even shelved by length or word count. If there was a series, it could either be in chronological order or publication order depending on which series it was. None of it made a lick of sense to Crowley and he hadn't the slightest idea how Aziraphale was able to find anything. But somehow it worked for him and that was what mattered.

It took hours. Even after taking off his jacket and scarf, Crowley was sweating from all the bending down, standing up, reaching, grabbing, stacking, propping books up when they fell, and stepping over huge piles of them. He had to stop for breaks to catch his breath and cool off.

" _Why_ does the bastard have to have so many of these damn things?" he groaned. To be fair, they had been accumulated slowly over centuries, but still. Crowley found it hard to believe that all of these books were good, or even valuable.

 _But what if they are?_ He had enjoyed _Winnie the Pooh_ a lot more than he'd thought he would, as embarrassing as that was to say. With all of these books, they'd have enough material to read together for as long as they were alive. That mental image encouraged Crowley off the couch and back to work.

Hours later, he was exhausted, drenched in sweat, and never wanted to shelve another book again.

But the library was finished.

* * *

"Crowley, what's going on? What are you hiding?"

"Nothing," Crowley answered, though he knew he didn't sound convincing. "Just have a little surprise for you, that's all."

"You insisted we had to move in today, and that we had to rent a car to get there. Why can't we take your car? The moving truck will bring all of our furniture tomorrow, so it's not like we have to worry about space."

"Just _trust_ me. It'll all make sense once we get there. I promise."

Aziraphale huffed. "Well, I suppose I'm glad we're finally getting to move in." He took Crowley's hand and kissed it. "It's about time we had a place of our own."

Crowley thought his heart might break his chest wide open. Even at a hundred miles an hour (with no shortage of protests from Mr. Backseat Driver Himself), the drive to the cottage was painfully slow. Just as he was starting to think they'd never get there, South Downs appeared up ahead.

"Now Aziraphale," he said, steering the rental toward their cottage (oh, how he missed the Bentley's smooth-as-butter steering system). "Take a look at the cottage and see if you notice anything different about it."

"Like what?" Aziraphale asked suspiciously. "Did you—oh, good gracious, it's bigger!" His mouth formed a perfect little O when Crowley pulled up to the cottage and parked in the garage. "What on earth did you do?"

"You'll see. Come on." He hurried out of the car and bounced on his heels as Aziraphale followed him inside. "Now this is a great place, don't get me wrong. But I realized it was missing something, you know? So I figured I would add that thing and make it _really_ perfect."

"What was missing?" Aziraphale asked, looking worried. "I thought the garden and the telescope would be what you really wanted."

Crowley could have melted at that. "They were. It's not about what I wanted," he said, squeezing Aziraphale's hand. "It was about what you wanted. What you deserve."

"Oh, Crowley, all I wanted was to be here with you."

"Don't say that yet." He held up a finger, grinning as he led him toward a door made of solid, soundproof wood. "Just wait until you see what's inside here." He stepped aside and gestured to the door. "Go on."

Smiling, Aziraphale opened the door and stepped inside. He gasped and covered his mouth with his hand.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Crowley said proudly. "Got it just like your old one. Only now you don't have to share it with anybody. No customers wanting to take them from you. Just you and your books."

Aziraphale walked around slowly and silently. He ran his hand along the spines of the volumes on the shelf. All along the library, he gazed at his old desk with his even older computer, his favorite chair, his collection full of millions of books—all placed exactly how he wanted them.

"You knew," he had to stop and swallow, fanning himself with his hand as his eyes grew shiny. "You knew how I arranged them. You remembered exactly where everything goes. I couldn't have done it better myself."

"Of course I knew," Crowley said. He approached him slowly and took the fluttering hand in his own. "I knew how much they meant to you. And what's important to you is important to me." He moved closer. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, learn for you, buy for you, or build for you, Aziraphale. Nothing."

Aziraphale let in a sharp breath at those words, and then said as tears fell, "Oh dear, now it's my turn to start the waterworks."

Crowley laughed. "Come here." He held Aziraphale to him and squeezed him tight as he cried quietly into Crowley's shoulder, saying "Thank you," "I love you," "Never dreamed that…" "You're amazing," "You're the best."

"Yes, yes, I know." He twirled that fluffy hair in his fingers and kissed it. "In actuality, I had a purely selfish reason for doing this. Now you never have an excuse not to read to me."

Aziraphale laughed. "I suppose not."

"Nope. You'll have to read to me every night for all eternity."

"It's a deal." He wiped his eyes one last time. "I can't thank you enough."

"It was the least I could do. I gave you a library, you gave me a whole damn _house_. And you gave up your bookshop to do it."

"Yes, but I've no doubt you gave—" He stopped. Looked up. "Oh, Crowley." His face clouded. "The Bentley. You didn't."

Crowley shrugged, trying to make it look casual. "I was due for a new car anyway. You know they've got built-in cameras now?"

"You gave up the thing you love most just to give me a library?" God, those eyes were mesmerizing. Looking directly at them was like looking at the sun.

"Might have done." Crowley blushed. "Worked out all right in the end, though. Because you. Are worth it."

Aziraphale cupped his cheek, fixing him with a look of tenderness Crowley had never seen before. He placed a long and passionate kiss to his lips, then pulled back, took Crowley's hand, and said in the softest voice, "Let me take you to our bed?"

 _Our bed._ Crowley shivered, his heart leaping. _Our bed. Our bed, our bed, our bed._ It was happening, in real life and not in his head. The moment he'd dreamed of for thousands of years.

Suddenly he didn't feel ready. What if Aziraphale didn't like what he saw? Crowley's unhelpful body was sure to be terrible in bed. What if Crowley couldn't give him what he wanted? What if it hurt?

Forcing himself to breathe, Crowley squeezed his angel's hand. "W-what will happen when we get there?" he asked shakily.

Aziraphale stroked his face. "Anything you like," he said sweetly. "Anything at all."

 _Anything?_ Crowley went weak at the knees. "Okay," he said, his heart pumping hard enough to hurt. He couldn't take his eyes off Aziraphale, who moved his hands around Crowley's back. Crowley moved to put his arms around his love's neck, thinking he was being pulled in for a hug, but the next thing he knew, his feet left the floor. He gasped as Aziraphale picked him up and carried him bridal style to their bedroom.

"You'll have to forgive me," Aziraphale said. "I'm a romantic, with the power to miracle myself some extra strength."

"Mm." Crowley rested his head against Aziraphale's shoulder, feeling oddly shy. He didn't think he'd ever get used to being carried. It was better than flying. Aziraphale's arm was firm against his back. His steps were slow and careful as he neared their bedroom. Crowley was almost trembling with nerves and excitement.

The door opened on its own—whose miracle that was, neither of them could say—and inside, the setting was perfect. Lamps were soon lit, the bedcovers turned down, candles that smelled like roses artfully placed around the room. The door shut behind them, and Aziraphale moved to set Crowley on the bed, slowly and gently.

Not ready to let go, Crowley clung to him and pulled him down. Aziraphale grinned and allowed himself to be pulled onto the bed. Crowley rushed into his lap, wrapping his legs around his waist to bring them as close as possible and kissing him with more passion than he'd ever had before.

They kissed for what may have been minutes or hours, it was _so good_ Crowley never wanted it to end. He could have stayed like this forever, feeling his love's warmth against his and pouring their love into their lips and tongues. They had their arms tightly around each other and a certain part of Aziraphale's lap poked at Crowley's legs until the angel pushed forward. He leaned further and further until Crowley was lying on his back with that warm, soft weight on top of him. Aziraphale's hard, pulsing member dug into his belly, making it tingle.

Aziraphale groaned. "Have to take these off," he whispered. "Care to help?" Crowley undid the buttons on his trousers with shaking fingers. He kissed at the flesh it exposed and slowly pulled down the zipper. Aziraphale sighed in relief as he wiggled out of his trousers and tossed them aside. A moment later, his pants were off too. Crowley thought his chest would explode for how his heart was pounding and tried to take deep breaths.

"Ah, much better," he said with a smile. He was bigger than Crowley had thought—in every sense of the word. Granted, Aziraphale had never been tiny, but all the layers of clothing he wore looked like they added more pounds than they did. Crowley leaned back against the pillow and took him in, fascinated.

Aziraphale was flabby, soft, and mostly hairless. His skin was clear and pale, with just enough flesh on his arms for Crowley to squeeze in his hands. His belly had a perfect curve, no doubt full with a meal. Between his artfully sculpted legs was a reddening, widening erection that excited and terrified Crowley at the same time. He self-consciously pressed his thighs together. It was getting warm Down There.

 _What happens now? Do we…do it?_ The thought disappointed him. He had liked the closeness of the kissing. At least then, he knew what to do and didn't have to worry about it hurting. He wouldn't have minded doing that a little longer. But Aziraphale's body seemed to have other plans.

 _What's wrong with me?_ he wondered. _I'm supposed to be the fast one. I should want this. I_ want _to want this._

"Like what you see?" One of those soft hands stroked his leg.

"O-of course," Crowley said, sitting up. "How could I not?" He explored with his hands, starting from the top of that white fluffy head all the way to his legs and erection. Crowley stroked it, giving a small smile as Aziraphale shut his eyes and moaned. He tried hard to picture it inside him, thrusting harder and harder until it shot a stream of hot liquid deep into his body. He tried even harder to feel excited about it.

"Your hands," Aziraphale gasped. He took them into his and kissed them both. Crowley smiled again. Now that was nice. "I love your hands."

"I love your lips," Crowley said. "And your eyes." He planted a kiss on the lips, hoping it would distract Aziraphale and make him remember how good that was. "You have the most beautiful eyes."

"So do you," he said. "My wily old serpent." Crowley giggled. "And I bet you're even more beautiful under those pajamas."

"Um. Yeah," he said, not knowing what else to say. He noticed Aziraphale's hand slipping under his shirt. That hand stroked his stomach, lifting his shirt as it moved up. As good as it felt, it made something like fear well up inside Crowley.

"C'mere," he said, and grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulders. He let out a surprised grunt, which Crowley ignored as he pulled him down on top of him again and resumed his previous position. Maybe if he kept his arms and legs wrapped around Aziraphale and distracted him with kissing, he'd forget about the rest.

Bless him, the angel went along. The kissing was even better lying down, with Aziraphale's warmth covering every inch of Crowley's body. His stomach was soft like a quilt, his back smooth under Crowley's fingers. He could have done without the erection poking into his belly and the growing heat Down There, but other than that, Crowley could shut his eyes and be in total bliss.

Aziraphale pressed Crowley's head into the pillows and shifted around until they both found a rhythm they could move to, up and down, back and forth. Angels radiated love, and this one was so full of it that even a demon could feel it pouring out of every kiss, every touch. He couldn't remember feeling better than this in six thousand years.

Until Aziraphale's hands began to wander vaguely downwards.

They started at Crowley's cheeks and slid down to his shoulders and hips, which was all right. At one point they broke for breath and Aziraphale moved down to kiss his neck, and that felt good too. Only when those hands crept under his shirt to lift him off the bed did those nerves come back.

 _Get over it,_ he told himself, furious. _This is Aziraphale. You love him. He loves you. You've wanted to be with him for ages. Don't ruin it._

Aziraphale lifted him slightly off the bed and slipped the other hand under his shirt, with one trailing up his stomach and another up and down his back. "Beautiful," he murmured. Crowley gave a nervous smile.

"Mm," Aziraphale hummed as he lifted Crowley's shirt higher. The latter kept his arms down and his hands on his love's shoulders, looking away and wincing when Aziraphale squeezed his bum even though it didn't hurt. He felt wet lips against his bare stomach and shivered. That was kind of nice, felt good. He could manage that.

The kisses moved upward until his shirt was almost entirely off, exposing his chest, which Aziraphale explored with his fingers and lips. Crowley moaned at the touch, thinking it wasn't so bad. Soft and gentle. Nothing about his body had repulsed the angel yet. Everything was fine. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. Down There was hotter than it had ever been. He wished he had an ice pack.

Gradually the kisses picked up speed, with Aziraphale's tongue gracing his skin more and more. Crowley held onto him, breathing deeply and focusing on the love he was giving off and the warmth between them. He managed to stay calm until suddenly Aziraphale's fingers dipped below his trousers and pants, traveling over the coarse hairs and spreading him open Down There to push inside him. Crowley yelped and jumped, just a little, but enough to make Aziraphale yank his hand back. His arms and legs started to meld together and it took some effort to fend off the transformation and stay in human form.

"What's wrong?" he asked, the loving smile gone from his face. Now he looked worried. "Did I hurt you?"

 _Now you've done it. You finally got him into bed with you, and you wrecked it. He'll never want to do this with you again._ Crowley kept his head down as he felt his eyes water. "No, sorry. You're fine."

"Are you sure? You sounded scared."

Crowley stripped off his shirt and threw it across the room. He grabbed Aziraphale's wrist and returned his hands to their previous positions, forcing his legs to stay open. "Keep going."

The hands didn't move. "Crowley, look at me."

That gentle tone would never not get to him. "Keep going," he repeated. Even he could hear how thick his voice sounded.

"Look at me." When Crowley didn't, a hand cupped his cheek and turned his face. He shut his eyes. "What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

Crowley had to swallow back a sob in frustration. "I'm sorry," he said when he could speak. He shook his head. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"What makes you think something's wrong with you?" Aziraphale asked, stroking his cheek. "You've been doing just fine. Wonderfully, even."

 _Bastard's just saying that to make me feel better._ Crowley doubted Aziraphale had ever had a less competent partner in bed. They hadn't even done anything yet and his body was already quitting on him because he was too stupid to understand it or even know how to make it work. He _hated_ it.

"Tell me what happened," Aziraphale implored. "You seemed to be enjoying it up until a moment ago. What changed?"

How the heaven was he supposed to explain it? _Well you see, kissing's great and all, but for some reason I can only do it with my clothes on, otherwise I start panicking for no fucking reason. Probably one more punishment from the Almighty._ He shrugged.

"Here." Aziraphale scooted to the edge of the bed and picked up their clothes. He dressed himself. Crowley noticed out of the corner of his eye that his erection had pretty much disappeared. _Great._ He handed Crowley his shirt back, but he didn't have the heart to put it on. Instead he buried his face in it, bringing his knees to his chest.

"Hey, hey, it's all right," Aziraphale said, rejoining him on the bed. "You're okay." He started to rub Crowley's back, then moved his hand away.

 _He's afraid to touch me. I ruined everything._ Crowley drew in a breath and sniffed, wiping his eyes.

"Here, love. Let me put this on you and we'll figure this out." Aziraphale gently took the shirt away. Crowley blinked hard as he pulled it over his head and adjusted it so that both of them were fully clothed again. He took Crowley into his arms and lay down with him, holding his head to his chest in that familiar position they both liked and stroking his hair. He kissed his hair and whispered soothing words into it. Crowley closed his eyes. If only _this_ were enough. He could easily do _this_ forever.

When he could talk, Crowley said, "I'm not sure what happened."

"How did you feel?"

He nuzzled Aziraphale's chest. "When we started, it was the best thing I'd ever felt in my life. Everything I thought it would be."

"And then?"

"And then…I don't know. Just…stuff happened."

"Hey." Aziraphale tilted his chin up. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I shouldn't have touched you there. Not until I knew you were ready."

"I—I thought I was. I wanted to be."

Aziraphale pushed his hair back. "I was so caught up in sharing my love, wanting you to know what you mean to me and how much I love you, that I believe I moved too quickly." He held Crowley's face. "But dear, I intended for this to be what _you_ want. If you would prefer that we stick to kissing with our clothes on, I'm more than happy to do that with you."

Crowley sighed. "Piss-poor substitute, though."

"No, it isn't." His eyes shone, and Crowley was surprised to hear him sound like he meant it. "It's not a substitute for anything. Whatever makes you happy makes me happy too."

"But I need to get over this," Crowley insisted. "So we can be a real couple."

Aziraphale smiled. "Oh Crowley, you silly thing," he said gently. "We _are_ a real couple. There's no one way to be that. I will love you the same amount whether we have sex every day or never at all." His face turned serious. "Please, don't _ever_ feel like you have to for my sake."

Crowley moved closer to bury his face into Aziraphale's shoulder. "I can't help feeling like I've disappointed you."

"You haven't, love, truly." He wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tight. "My dear, I didn't ask you to come to bed so that we could have sex. I asked you to come to bed so that we could _make love_." He kissed the side of Crowley's head. "And as far as I'm concerned, that's exactly what we did."

Crowley tightened his hug until he was practically squeezing the breath out of Aziraphale. "You mean that?"

"With all my heart. You're beautiful, Crowley, and the best partner I could ever ask for. Being with you is all that matters to me. How we're together is entirely up to you."

 _Thank you._ Aziraphale was so much better than Crowley would ever deserve. "We can keep going," he said. "Just no penetration, I guess. For now, anyway." The optimist in him had to believe that someday his body would be up to it. Maybe Aziraphale could find some anatomy books and help him figure it out. That he didn't mind what Crowley's body was like made him feel better about it already.

"Just cuddling, then," Aziraphale said. Crowley grunted at the baby word. "Snuggling? Canoodling?"

"Shut up."

Aziraphale nudged his cheek with his hand. "Come here. I can't properly kiss you when you're in my shoulder like that."

"Mm." Crowley moved his head and closed his eyes in relief as Aziraphale returned to the slow, gentle pace of kissing his forehead, temple, nose, eyelids, cheeks, and lips. Crowley felt him shift in the bed. The next thing he knew, a wet tongue was blowing a loud raspberry onto his cheek, making him giggle in spite of himself.

"What are you doing?" he asked through the giggles. Aziraphale answered with more raspberries. When Crowley brought his hands up to push his tongue away, the angel took advantage by tickling his armpits. Crowley shrieked and frantically tried to push his hands away, and soon they were both laughing and rolling about on the bed. Aziraphale's shirt came up in the process, and Crowley settled the score by blowing a raspberry on his belly.

He would never tire of that laugh.

"Get over here," Aziraphale said playfully. He grabbed Crowley under the arms and moved him closer so they could kiss. They kissed over and over, in each other's arms and up and down each other's bodies, going slowly and caressing over and under their clothes, pressing close together under a blanket.

This time, Crowley felt nothing but joy. 

Hours later, exhaustion creeped into their bones and they began to slow down. Aziraphale's eyes slid shut, but he still found the energy to wrap his arms around his love and bring him as close as he could before giving him one last kiss goodnight.

"Welcome home," he whispered, relaxing into the pillows.

Crowley smiled. "Our home," he whispered back, and drifted into the most peaceful sleep he'd ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the encouraging comments you've left. They really have helped me keep going, and I appreciate everyone who stuck with this story to the end. I hope you all enjoyed it!


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